


Chasing The Dragon

by Darkrivertempest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst and Humor, Hallucinations, M/M, Mystery, Substance Abuse, Suspense, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/pseuds/Darkrivertempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dealing with chronic spell damage, Remus Lupin considers every day a bloody miracle that he is still alive. Coincidentally, there is another miracle waiting for him, just around the corner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stasia/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters and canon Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling and associates. I am in no way affiliated with Warner Brothers, JK Rowling, or Scholastic. I do not make any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
> 
>  
> 
> Written for Stasia at the 2012 Snupin_Santa on LJ. She had such a lovely prompt, which I will show at the end of the story.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta - you rock cotton socks!

“Ow! Really, if you want to pull my kidney out of my body by way of my arse, at least buy me a drink first.”

Healer Melton shook his head in irritation as he prodded the angry welt with first his wand, then his fingers. 

“I tried to convince him to seek professional help earlier,” Andromeda Tonks said, turning to glare at me as I lay prone on the bed. “But he’s as stubborn as he is tall.”

“I’m not stubborn,” I groused. “I just have instinctual reluctance.” My brows creased in a grimace. “Besides, it’s no longer a question of staying healthy. It’s a question of finding an ailment I can live with.”

A particularly heavy press of the Healer’s hands on my back made me yelp. “If you keep ignoring your body’s cues, you won’t have that problem.” He released me from his grip. “You’ll be dead.”

Muttering under her breath about obstinate wizards, Andromeda shifted my son on her hip. “That’s not an option, Remus. Think about Teddy. He’s already lost his mother, it would be devastating if—” 

“I _know_ , Andromeda!” I snapped, but the look in her eyes immediately made me regret my tone. “I just…”

“Here.” Healer Melton scribbled on a piece of parchment and handed it to me. “Supplement the Wolfsbane with this, and the worst of the joint swelling should ease up. _Use_ it this time. The potions made by John Nussey’s apothecary are marginally better than the one the Ministry makes.”

I sighed heavily. “Still not as potent as what I had two years ago.” 

“Unfortunately, we don’t have that particular expert available to us anymore, Mr. Lupin.” 

I nodded, then folded the parchment and tucked it in my trouser pocket. “Thanks.”

Melton put a hand on my arm. “I can’t stress how important it is that you keep the joint swelling to a minimum after a transformation. You’ve already developed a swan-neck deformity of the fingers on your left hand, and I noticed a slight swelling in your pericardium. If you don’t control it, you risk permanent damage—not to mention an agonising death. St. Mungo’s has a good recovery rate, I’d hate for you to blow it for us.”

Andromeda gasped and cuddled Teddy closer as he began to fuss. “I’ll make sure that he takes the potions, Healer Melton.” She speared me with a heated glare. “All of them.” 

I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth against the pain in my ankles as I stood. Bloody hell, there wasn’t one inch of my body that didn’t ache. Even though I’d been given a potion liberally laced with _Hypericum_ , which reduced the worst of my symptoms, I still felt like a reanimated Inferi—brittle, falling apart, but still moving. If I could just make it to the door without embarrassing myself…

After three steps, I knew I wouldn’t make it. Just as I stumbled, Andromeda’s strong hand gripped my elbow and kept me upright. “Only a little further,” she whispered. 

Biting my lower lip so I wouldn’t do something as unmanly as crying, I cleared my throat and straightened myself as much as I could. Determined not to falter again, I slowly left the Healer’s office, Andromeda and Teddy in tow. By the time we made it to the lifts—four floors of stairs were out of the question—the potion was finally allowing me to move a bit more freely, and I sagged against the wall.

Andromeda’s gaze softened. “Better?” At my nod she pursed her lips. “This is the worst episode yet, Remus. It would be one thing if I knew the spell Dolohov cursed you with; I could at least research counter-measures. But with him dead, it’s a moot point.” She pressed the call button for the lift. “I may be a very powerful Healer in my own right, but I don’t have access to the resources that can help you. I can’t treat you effectively anymore.”

I had known this already. It really wasn’t fair to keep asking her to be a pseudo-Healer to a broken werewolf, yet she had done it willingly over the year and a half that had passed since that terrible day last May when Dora had died. 

I had asked her once how she could continue to be gracious and compassionate towards me, when I had effectively gotten her daughter killed. She had given me a small smile, though her eyes were full of grief. “You did no such thing, Remus. My daughter had a mind of her own, as you well know.” She had looked away for a moment, her hand idly stroking the band of gold still on her left ring finger. “I know what it’s like to lose a spouse,” she had said softly. “I wouldn’t wish that misery on anyone, and I have no wish to add to your pain. If Nymphadora had been half as stubborn as I was at that age, you’d have marched down the aisle much sooner!” We had laughed after that, laughed until it had broken down into sobs, the pain still so fresh, but smoothed over when we had heard Teddy gurgle with delight while playing with his stuffed dragon. 

I often asked the Fates why I had been spared and Dora had not. They were resolutely silent, as always. I stopped asking after Teddy said his first words: Da-Da. At that point I realized it didn’t matter—I had Teddy, and he needed me.

As the lift gate opened and we entered, Teddy reached out to me with open arms, wanting to be held. I wanted to take him, I really did, but given my condition, I worried I would drop him. Andromeda, blessed saint that she was, moved closer and wrapped her free arm around me, holding Teddy close so the toddler could cuddle with me. 

“Thank you,” I murmured over Teddy’s head. 

She nodded. Words were not needed. I suppose it might seem odd to the casual observer, this close relationship with my mother-in-law, but I was extremely grateful that she wanted to help me and Teddy rebuild our lives. I knew that she missed her husband, as I missed my wife; I had caught glimpses of her red-rimmed eyes, seen her sit in the living room for hours on end, staring out the window as if Ted might come through the door any minute. I knew that she desperately missed her daughter, no less fiercely than I. Both Andromeda and I were broken people, trying to mend themselves the best they could. 

As we reached the ground floor I pointed down the corridor. “I’ll be right back. Loo.”

“Are you able to make it there? Should I help?”

I waved my hand at her. “No, I’m all right. Just keep Teddy entertained.” 

Andromeda snorted and shook her head. “Easier said than done. Go on, then. And don’t crack that skull of yours on the porcelain. I’d be quite upset if I had to tell Teddy his father expired in the men’s toilet.”

“The horror,” I teased.

I ambled past several rooms full of bustling medical staff and patients of all sorts, gritting my teeth to keep up an appearance of ease. Upon reaching the gents, the last of my reserve strength gave out, and I had to brace myself on the doorframe before even contemplating opening the door. As I placed my hand on the knob, a gruff voice came from behind me.

“Closed for Grindylow infestation.” I turned to see an old man in custodian overalls—a more haggard version of Mad-Eye Moody, if that was possible—pointing at the sign on the door. “Sewage pipes in Muggle London burst last night and an influx of the buggers flooded our system.” The grizzled man leaned forward, his breath atrocious. “If you be needing to take a piss, I suggest the ward at the end of that hall.” He nodded towards a dark corridor with a single distant light trying, and mostly failing, to make its presence known.

I swallowed against the rising nausea from the old man’s fetid stench. My sense of smell had, of course, always been hypersensitive, but the man in front of me seemed particularly pungent, as if he were the one who’d had his elbows deep in Grindylow muck. I considered waiting until we returned home to relieve myself, but the insistent press of my bladder told me I was closer to embarrassment than I had thought. Heaving a sigh, I took another look down the forbidding stretch of hallway. 

“Down there, eh?”

The custodian gave me a crooked smirk. “In the Dai Llewellyn Ward. Only working loo on this floor, but most folks make a mad dash for the second floor rather than go in there.”

“Why? What’s in there?”

A casual shrug, almost too casual. “Dunno. Been empty all this time `cept for one patient, but they keep him nicely tucked away, they do.”

My curiosity was getting the better of me. “Why? Is he deformed? Was he bitten?”

Bushy silver eyebrows rose, but other than that slight reaction, the custodian affected a blank look. “It's none of my never mind. I ain’t saying a word.” The man backed up a few steps and shuffled off.

I frowned. It was almost as if the man had been partially Obliviated—to not recall who was in the ward, but clearly he knew it had a toilet. Really, the whole thing was beyond odd. Shaking my head, I walked quickly—the urge was getting stronger—to the corner and turned down the dim hallway. After a dozen yards, I reached a door that I could sense was heavily warded. 

“Damn,” I muttered. I withdrew my wand and tried several spells to unravel the intricate wards, but none of them worked. Whatever was behind this door was clearly supposed to remain hidden, though I couldn’t imagine what would warrant such high security, in hospital of all places. Just as I was about to give up and discreetly find a potted plant, I heard a muffled bang from behind the door. 

Oh, now I _had_ to know what was in that room! Redoubling my efforts, I tried a few more advanced spells, even some that Dumbledore had taught me on the sly. Sweat dotted my upper lip, my teeth clenched and I forgot all about my need to empty my bladder. Just as I was on the verge of giving up in frustration, I heard the soft snick of something falling into place, and the door’s locking mechanism clicked and shifted like cogs in a clock. 

I stepped back as the door slowly opened, then I peered around the edge. The room beyond was small, dingy, and had only one window barred with a metal grate, but it was illuminated by a number of shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. There was a lone bed near the window, a bedside table stacked high with books, a writing desk shoved up against the right-hand wall covered in rolls of parchment and next to it, a wing-back chair whose leather had seen better days.

The air was thick and stagnant, as if the room hadn’t been aired out in months. Dust motes drifted lazily in the afternoon sunlight that filtered through the tiny square of frosted glass. Clearly the room was inhabited; bedclothes and a dressing gown were thrown haphazardly over the end of the bed, and the desk was clean of dust. Seeing no one, I entered cautiously, made my way over to the bed and picked up the clothing. Lifting the fabric to my nose, I inhaled, calling on a sense of smell that stretched well beyond a human’s capability. 

A complex scent teased my olfactory nerves, a scent I had not encountered in at least two years. I shook my head. It couldn’t be! I shifted the dressing gown to find where the scent was strongest, near the underarm, and detected a subtle oily chemical compound that made my nose twitch. No, that wasn’t right. Must be a side-effect of the potion I had just taken. Clutching the gown in my hand, I scanned the room for any information as to its occupant.

A quick glance at the books on the bedside table revealed that they were the oddest mixture of wizarding titles and Muggle classics. _Hogwarts: A History_ sat next to _Hamlet_. I moved over to the scroll-covered desk and sifted through the papers piled haphazardly on it. The handwriting seemed familiar, tiny and angular, but in some instances it became sloppy, as if the scribe had fallen asleep as they were writing. There were treatises on biology, herbology, chemistry and geology. One touted the benefits of powdered moonstone over crushed. Another extolled the virtues of brass scales over gold when it came to measuring ingredients for… potions.

Heart pounding from a combination of anger and excitement, I pulled the dressing gown to my nose once more, and breathed deeply. The same multifaceted scent flooded my being—sandalwood, with subtle notes of vetiver; wood smoke and myrrh, all overlaid with that cloyingly sweet trace chemical. An opioid derivative, if I was not mistaken. I buried my face in the fabric again, nuzzling the material, rubbing the scent on my skin; it reminded me of…

“If this is a new form of therapy, I am not amused. In fact, I think I shall burn that garment.”

Though I had heard the distinct sound of a toilet flushing in the background, I had forgotten my surroundings in my focus on identifying the unknown person’s scent, forgotten that this was someone’s room. Slowly, so as not to overtax my weakened joints and collapse to the floor in a heap, I turned and stared at the man that had apparently just emerged from the only functioning loo on the first floor of St. Mungo’s hospital. My mind searched for any rational explanation for what, or rather whom, I was looking at. It couldn’t be, but it was: Severus Snape. 

Dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re not my Healer.”

“What? No,” I whispered. I dropped the dressing gown on the floor and clutched the footboard of the bed to keep myself upright. “I… I’m…” Emotions clogged my throat. I was at a loss; I couldn’t articulate anything that didn’t sound asinine. The scent had not been wrong! But how? The man whose smell was all over this room was supposed to be dead. How in Merlin’s name could he be here in St. Mungo’s? Harry had been to his funeral! 

“You look on the verge of an apoplectic fit. Do not think to have a seizure in here, sir.”

 _Sir_? Since when had there ever been that sort of respect between the two of us? Or any sort, for that matter? “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I rasped. “How did you…” I trailed off at his look of confusion. Something was not right. The wizard standing before me—dressed in black linen trousers and a lose-fitting black shirt—should have been railing and ranting at me, not calling me ‘sir’. I frowned and cleared my throat. “Do you know who I am?”

The other man tilted his head, wincing when he bent too far to the right. “You seem very… familiar. Are you a former colleague? I am told I had colleagues before.”

“Before what?”

Thin, long fingers rubbed in circles on his temples, trying to ease the apparent strain. “I can’t remember. Haven’t I told you bloody people enough already?” he said through gritted teeth.

There was that banked intensity I remembered! But I could see he was struggling, fatigue obvious in his eyes. Recalling the smell of opiates, and the memory loss that such use could occur, I licked my lips and hoped I wasn’t making a colossal mistake. “Do you know who you are?”

A frustrated expression flitted across the dark features. “I… it’s there, on the edge, but if I try to concentrate, the knowledge fades away.” 

Dear Merlin. The man had no idea who he even was. What were they doing with him in here? I sank down onto the end of the bed, my mind running through all the possible scenarios that could’ve taken place after the war. How had he ended up here, of all places, in this cramped cell, with no memory of who he had been, what he had done? The adrenalin-fuelled rush I had felt earlier dissipated, leaving an unpleasantly giddy feeling. I searched for the anger I thought was the source, but found only curiosity, maybe even a bit of pity.

He had been watching me closely. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

The innocent question seemed out jarringly of place coming from this particular wizard, who had in fact played so many complex roles: Death Eater, teacher, traitor, spy, and finally hero. I nodded. “Would you like me to tell you?”

Thinned lips. “Of course I want you to tell me. What sort of impertinent question is that? Imbecile,” he muttered.

I couldn’t help the smirk that spread across my face. Even with only a few memories, some things about this man would forever be the same. I never would have guessed I’d miss that quick temper and sharp tongue. “Your name is Severus Snape. We were… at school together.”

He nodded curtly and then began to pace the length of the room. “That is why you seem familiar. Of course, it makes sense now.” He came to an abrupt halt and stared at me. “Am I to be released, then? Is that why you’re here?”

“No. I didn’t even know you were here, Severus,” I admitted. 

He frowned. “Then what do you want?” Before I could even formulate an answer, he must have drawn his own conclusions. His breath came more rapidly, almost gasping, as he took a step towards the door. “No, I said no more!” he shouted. “I won’t take them, damn you!” He began to pound on the door, his face twisted in despair and fear.

Though I had no clue what he was talking about, I cautiously went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Severus, no. Severus! Stop. I’m not going to do anything to you.”

The shouts ceased, but beneath my hand I could feel him shaking. “No more,” he pleaded on a hitched sob. “I don’t remember anything.”

“It’s alright,” I said, keeping my voice low and soothing. “No more, I promise.” I had no idea if I could keep my promise to prevent whatever happened to him from occurring again, but I couldn’t help but respond to the desperation evident in his behaviour. I tugged at his arm gently and led him to the chair. “Sit down, please.” As he did so, I felt a twinge in my abdomen, reminding me that I still needed to relieve myself. “I’m going to use the loo,” I told him, still holding onto his arm, “and then we’ll talk, all right?”

Severus nodded and looked away, fear evident in his posture. His fingers curled into the tattered leather of the chair, his nails scratching deep. Studying the chair, I saw that there were many such marks littering the material, and I wondered what in bloody hell they had been doing to him. 

Once my business was finished, I heaved a huge sigh of relief and made a mental note never to wait that long again. When I re-entered the tiny room, Severus had not moved from the chair and seemed to be off in a world of his own. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to gauge his condition and mental state. Though he was always thin to begin with, his face now was gaunt, more so than I’d ever seen it before. There were deep purple smudges underneath his eyes, which were bloodshot and the lids red, as though he had been rubbing them or—was it possible?—weeping. His lips were cracked, his nose chapped and raw. Horrible scarring twisted down the left side of his neck, no doubt from Voldemort’s snake. If the wounds had been as severe as Harry had told us, and certainly the latticework of scars indicated so, it was a wonder the man hadn’t bled out in seconds. Or had he? None of this made any sense. 

I had been incapacitated for nearly two months after the final battle, so I only had second-hand accounts to go on. Harry had told me that he’d had to fight to have Severus buried with honour, but he had prevailed, and there had been a small service and burial in Godric’s Hollow. Though I’d questioned him many times since then about the propriety of having Severus laid to rest so close to James and Lily, Harry remained tight-lipped about the whole thing, stating merely that Snape would’ve wanted it that way. 

So why was the wizard in question sitting here before me, very much alive? I was half in shock, half riddled with curiosity. The only people powerful enough for a cover-up of this magnitude were undoubtedly part of the Ministry. Probably Unspeakables. I shuddered. If Unspeakables were involved, Snape was either a serious threat or perceived as one. His wary gaze kept shifting between the door, me and the window, as if expecting an attack any second. The longer I watched him, the more agitated he became, and the stench of his paranoia began to fill the room. 

Moving slowly so as not to startle him, I leaned forward and placed my hand atop his, rubbing the chilled, chafed skin over his knuckles. “I promise I won’t hurt you,” I said softly. 

His eyes darted to mine, holding the stare until he seemed to relax a fraction. “Please…” he whispered.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight and painful. I had never seen Severus in such a pathetic state and my heart lurched in my chest. “Please what, Severus?”

He turned his hand over and grasped mine, tight. “Please take me away from here.”

My eyes widened. How in Merlin’s name could I remove a patient from St. Mungo’s? Especially one that I was sure was hidden for reasons the Ministry clearly wanted kept secret? “I don’t know if I—”

“I’ll do anything!” he said fervently, the words tumbling out in a flood. “I remember how to brew; let me brew for you! Any potion you like. Or my body! Yes, my body. I know it’s not much to look at, but you may have it, any way you wish.” His brows creased in a frown. “No, not my body. Perhaps a house? I’m sure I have one, I remember bits of my childhood in Cokeworth. It’s yours if you facilitate my departure!” 

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the property in Spinner’s End had been destroyed in a fire. But what worried me most was the frantic need to leave this place, so much so that he would promise me the use of his body, as if it were an object to be bartered! Bile roiled in my stomach at the thought of someone imposing their will on Severus in that way. 

I shook my head, but kept hold of his hand. “You don’t need to offer me anything, Severus. I wouldn’t take it, regardless.”

“But I must leave! Please,” he begged. 

That, more than anything, shocked me into silence. Severus Snape, always so arrogant and contemptuous, reduced to begging. It was as if fire were cold, or water were dry. How could I ignore the desolate look on the man’s face? His body radiated fear and anguish. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Then again, I knew nothing of his condition—it might be the worst decision of my life, even if I could come up with a way to quietly extract Severus from this ward. After all, it wasn’t like I could just walk out the front door with him...

Andromeda and Teddy. “Damn!” They were still waiting for me at the front door, probably wondering by now if I’d fallen into the toilet and drowned.

Severus clutched my hand tightly, painfully so. “Don’t leave me here!”

I blew out a pent up breath. “I won’t. Sorry about that. I just remembered something.” I tried to get him to release the grip on my fingers. “I need to find someone. I’ll be right back, I swear to you.”

Panic, raw and agonising, exploded across his face. “No! You’ll never come back! Please, no!”

I needed to find Andromeda and Teddy, needed time to formulate some sort of plan of escape, but I couldn’t leave him in this state. I had no way of calming him down with words, clearly, so I did the only thing I could think of: I leaned forward and wrapped him a strong embrace. 

He stiffened at first, but then I felt thin arms inch their way around me until he was practically clinging to me for dear life. I stroked his back soothingly, feeling every vertebra on his painfully thin back. He shuddered and buried his sniffling nose in my neck. I tried not to cringe at the sensation, or the smell of his stringy hair, which reeked of that oily, sweet chemical. 

We stayed that way for several moments until I could feel the tense muscles of his shoulders sag somewhat. When I pulled away, Severus looked shamefaced. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I-I don’t know what came over me.” He coughed—racking barks that rattled deep in his lungs—and I handed him a glass of water that I conjured with a quick _Aguamenti_. He gulped the liquid down, then cleared this throat. “I know you are trying to help. My apologies for being a hindrance.”

If the situation weren’t so grim, I would have laughed at the idea of Severus Snape apologizing. For anything. “You’re not a hindrance, Severus.” I conjured more water into the glass and bade him drink it more slowly this time. He seemed quite parched. “I need help to get you out of here. _Secret_ help, and I can’t get that unless I leave for a little while. But I promise I will return.”

Though he nodded, I could see the resignation in his eyes, the conviction that I would depart and not think twice about leaving him to rot here. There was no way to convince him otherwise, unless I actually followed through on my promise. I stood, grimacing at the pain that shot through my knees at the prolonged immobility. I didn’t look back to see if he watched me leave; I could feel his hard gaze on my back as I closed the door and restored the wards that had kept Severus hidden. 

I travelled back down the long, dim hallway, around the corner into the main corridor, and was halfway to the front door when a familiar voice stopped me. 

“Remus!” 

I turned sharply. “Andromeda!” The perturbed look on her face made it clear she had been searching for me for a long while. Instead of joining her, however, I motioned for her to follow me. “Come with me, you’re not going to believe this.”

Andromeda frowned as she came towards me, Teddy on her hip. “Where have you been? I didn’t realise you needed to—”

“I found something,” I interrupted what was sure to be a tongue-lashing. “Or, more accurately, someone.”

She gave me a look of fond exasperation. “I think the potion has reached its full potency. You’re talking nonsense.”

I shook my head. “Really, you have to see this.” I checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following us, and then drew her down the corridor. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

“Told me what, Remus?”

I didn’t answer, simply removed the wards again and led her inside Severus’ room. She looked around, grimacing at the state of shabbiness, and then her gaze fell on Severus, who still sat in the leather chair, his eyes wide as saucers. “You came back,” he whispered.

“That’s… I don’t… how…” she spluttered, clutching Teddy closer to her. 

“My thoughts exactly,” I whispered in her ear. “He doesn’t remember much. Didn’t know who I was, only that I was familiar.”

“Dear Merlin,” she gasped. “He looks wretched.”

Severus scowled at her soft words. “Come to gawk, have we?” he snarled. 

“Severus, calm down. She’s here to help,” I reassured him. He gave me a mutinous sneer and turned away. 

Andromeda gave me a sharp look. “Help with what? What has got into that head of yours, Remus Lupin?”

I was a grown man, but by Zeus, one of her glares could make a person shrivel inside. Must be a Black family trait. “We need to get him out of here,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why? He’s been considered dead for over a year, so far as the rest of the world knows. To what purpose?”

“Because something is very wrong with him being here.” I lowered my voice. “He’s being held against his will, tortured for information, information he doesn’t even remember at this point, and they’re drugging him in the meanwhile. This isn’t how you heal someone! I can’t tell if the memory loss is due to the treatment or if that happened beforehand.”

Gathering Teddy close, she whispered heatedly, “Perhaps there’s a reason he’s being tortured, Remus. Let’s not forget he killed Dumbledore.”

I shook my head. “You’ve heard Harry’s story, what he saw in the Pensieve. Snape was under orders from Dumbledore himself, his death was planned. Snape was a double agent for the Order.”

“Memories can be altered,” she pointed out.

“Andromeda, everyone thought he died in the Shrieking Shack, even Harry. Someone doesn’t want the world to know Snape’s alive.”

“I don’t like it,” she grumbled as she studied Snape, who was slouched in the chair, his back turned to them. “It stinks of Ministry politics.”

I couldn’t help but agree. “That’s why he needs to get out of here.” I stroked Teddy’s pink hair. “I don’t think they mean for him to survive their questioning, not with the way he looks. He’s got maybe another month.”

When Andromeda pursed her lips, I knew she had capitulated. “Let me examine him,” she said with a sigh, handing Teddy to me. She walked over to Snape and gently laid a hand on his forearm. “Severus?”

He didn’t answer, only curled further into himself, ducking his head away. 

“My name is Andromeda Tonks. Do you remember me?” she tried again.

This got a baleful look and a shake of Snape’s head, then he was back to ignoring her. 

Crouching low, she placed her hand on Snape’s knee. “I remember you. Such a gangly, sullen boy. But powerful. Oh, you radiated such power. It’s no wonder they were attracted to you.”

Severus raised his head a fraction and looked at her from under a fall of stringy, black hair. “Who was?” he muttered. I had to laugh to myself; Andromeda was smart, playing to his vanity like that.

She smiled at Severus. “Do you remember Lucius Malfoy?”

I could see Severus struggling to remember, but ultimately, he sniffed and shook his head. 

“That’s quite all right. No one wants to remember him anyway,” she said with a smirk. “I certainly don’t.” She rubbed Severus’ knee in that motherly way she tended to do with others. “May I have a look at you? I promise it won’t hurt.”

After several tense moments, he unfurled his limbs and straightened himself in the chair. “Proceed.”

Teddy began to fuss, gnawing on his dummy, drool covering his face. I patted his back and made shushing noises, which quieted him for the moment, but judging by the colour of his hair, it was only a matter of time before he went into a full tantrum. 

Andromeda was focused on Severus, her Healer training taking over. She ran her wand over him multiple times, her frown increasing as she moved from one area to another. “When was the last time you ate anything substantial?”

“Two days ago.” As if on cue, Severus’ stomach rumbled, and he wrapped his arms around his middle, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Remus, this is…” She shook her head in dismay. “Severus, do you know what kind of potions or medications they’re giving you?”

Severus’ breath came faster as dread vibrated his frame—just talking about it seemed to send him to the edge of panic. “It’s black and tastes like bitter liquorice. They make me take it every other day. Normally I would try to assess the ingredients, to determine what they’re giving me…” He paused, his anxiety fading into a blank look. “But I don’t remember very much afterwards.” 

“Did you receive a dose today?”

He shook his head. “I thought that was why he was here,” he said, pointing at me. 

Andromeda patted Severus’ knee and stood. She looked around, evidently searching for something.

“What is it?” I asked, sensing the rising tension emanating from her. 

“You were right, Remus. We have to get him out of here.” She spied the dressing gown I had dropped on the floor and retrieved it, only to lay it on Severus’ bed. “This works better if it is personal to the replica,” she muttered.

“What is? Andromeda, what are you doing?” Teddy whimpered, reacting to my concern and confusion.

She didn’t answer me. “Severus, may I have a lock of your hair to make it authentic?” He nodded, and she snipped three long strands which she then tucked inside one of the gown pockets. Taking a deep breath, she began weaving a spell I had never heard before. 

By the time she was finished, my mouth was gaping in astonishment. An exact duplicate of Severus Snape lay on the bed, motionless, clothed in his dressing gown. “How did you—”

“It’s a golem,” she said hurriedly. “It looks, smells, and is, down to the genetic level, identical to Severus in all ways that matter, at least to the Ministry. If we are to have any hope of avoiding pursuit, they must think Severus died here.” She tugged Severus to his feet. I watched in surprise as Andromeda withdrew Harry’s Invisibility Cloak from the nappy bag we had brought with us for Teddy. “Here, put this over your head.”

“Why do you have Harry’s cloak?”

She gave me an irritated look. “He left it at our house the last time he visited. I was going to drop it off with him today, since we were in London, but I think we are in need of it just now.” She watched as Severus donned the cloak, tugging and pulling here or there to make sure he was completely covered. Satisfied, she nodded towards the door. “Now, quickly. I’ve charmed the golem to last forty-eight hours, which should be plenty of time for any Ministry personnel to find him and declare him deceased… again. I don’t want to be observed leaving here, however, so we must be discreet.”

I gave her a lop-sided grin. Here I was, trying to come up with a plan, any plan, to rescue Severus, and Andromeda whirls in, forms a strategy on the spot and even provides the means for the escape. Besides being a Muggle-loving member of the Black family—which would have been a death sentence in and of itself only a few short years ago—she was a formidable witch in her own right. No wonder the Death Eaters had considered her a dangerous threat. I was very glad she was on our side. 

As we stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, and I restored the wards on Severus’ room, Teddy began his full-on fuss. “Shhh, Ted. Soon, I promise. We’ll be home soon.” 

Though he quieted, my fears of detection were realised when an employee in a green robe spotted us in the hallway. “This area is restricted,” the man stated. His voice sounded menacing, though that could have just been my guilty conscience.

“I was looking for the loo,” I said sheepishly. It was the truth. Partly. 

The wizard studied us with piercing grey eyes. “The men’s loo is broken on this floor.”

“Now you tell me?” I huffed. “I’ve got incontinence problems, and you lot let me wander around searching for a toilet. I ought to report you the Ministry!”

An uncomfortable look graced the Medi-wizard’s face. “Sorry about that. Let me show you—”

“Forget it,” I growled. “I can Floo home quicker than your incompetent arse can—”

“Through there,” the Medi-wizard hastily said, pointing to a set of double-doors. “The Floo can be accessed there.”

I snarled at him for good measure. “I should—”

“Remus, do remember Teddy… and our _other_ obligations,” Andromeda said, forcefully.

“Be glad I’m in a hurry,” I snapped at the now nervous wizard. 

I quickly followed Andromeda to the hearths linked to the Floo network, keeping my senses attuned to Severus in case he faltered. 

“Indulging your theatrical talents overmuch, don’t you think?” Andromeda muttered under breath. She shook her head, laughing. “Incontinence?” She snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t just cock up your hind leg and spray his atrocious robes.”

I bit my lips to keep from grinning. “Not a bad idea.” As we stepped into the hearth, I left a respectable space between Andromeda and me and felt Severus slip into the gap. It wasn’t until we landed safely in Andromeda’s sitting room that I felt the tension ease from my chest.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment we arrived, Severus nearly collapsed with fatigue, but Andromeda bustled him into the sitting room to wrap him up in a thick quilt in an effort to soothe his tremors. While she prepared tea, I quickly fed Teddy, changed his nappy and laid him in his cot for a nap. Once I knew for sure he would sleep, I made my way downstairs to peer discreetly around the corner and into the kitchen, spying Andromeda placing a cup of tea in front of Severus. 

He was desperately trying to keep the quilt bunched around him and still grip the cup of hot liquid with shaking hands. Several times I thought it would spill, either on him or the quilt, but then he would close his eyes and moderate his breathing; while it didn’t halt the trembling fingers, they did shake less once he was focused. Taking a small sip, he swallowed and grimaced. If his throat was as parched as his lips were, it was a wonder he was able to manage anything at all. 

Standing in the shadows, I was caught between a wish not to intrude and overwhelming curiosity. Was Severus aware of where he was? What was causing his tremors? Was he just cold, or was there some more sinister cause? And those questions were just the tip of the wizard’s hat. Just as I was about to say something, Andromeda glanced up from the table and gave me a minute shake of her head, so I remained silent.

She moved to one side of the kitchen then returned to Severus and placed a small plate of cut-up banana in front of him. “Do you think you could manage a few bites, Severus?” 

Severus stared at the food, turned several shades paler than he already was, and launched himself to the sink, retching violently. My sides hurt just to hear him, so I sidled up beside him in case he fell. When it was finally over, he fumbled for the tap, turned it on and splashed water in his face and rinsed his mouth out. He let his head and hands dangle over the sink for several minutes. 

“Better?” I asked, and made the mistake of placing my hand on his shoulder.

He wrenched himself away, his red-rimmed eyes glinting. “I told you I don’t know anything!” he screamed. “I don’t know where it is. I don’t even know _who_ you are!” 

I glanced at Andromeda for guidance on how to proceed, catching a pained expression on her face. She tapped her thumb against her bottom lip—a sure sign she was thinking furiously about something—and upon arriving at what she deemed a solution, she spoke. “Severus, do you know why you are ill, why you’re unable to retain anything in your system for very long?”

He whipped his head around to glare at her. “It’s that bloody potion, isn’t it? I need it. I don’t want it, but I _need_.” His fingers flexed convulsively, the ragged nails digging into his palms.

Andromeda gave Severus a look that brooked no argument. “You may think that now, especially since your body is trying to cope with the lack of certain chemicals, but trust me, you are better off without them.”

“Trust,” he snarled, and I had my hand out, ready to stop him if he made to lunge. “That’s what they said as well.”

“Yes, well ‘they’ were one dose away from killing you!” she snapped. “I don’t think you realise what sort of danger you were in, Severus. Many of your normal bodily functions were starting to shut down. Now, we at least have a chance of reversing the damage, but it’s going to be hellish the next few days as you wean yourself off that potion.”

Severus looked as if he were going to debate the issue, working himself into a full strop, when his eyelids fluttered and he collapsed.

I tried to catch him, honestly I did. But he was so thin, he slipped through the circle of my arms and slid to the floor with a thud. It would’ve been comedic to witness if the man hadn’t obviously gone through hell in recent weeks. As it was, I dropped to my knees and, with Andromeda’s help, hoisted him up enough to drag him to the sitting room and lay him on the sofa. Andromeda retrieved the quilt from the kitchen floor and covered him with it, swiping at the sticky strands of hair that clumped against his wet brow.

“It’s starting,” she murmured, placing the back of her hand on each of Severus’ hollow cheeks. 

I had an inkling of what she was talking about, but I wanted to be sure. “What’s happening?”

“Withdrawal,” she said on a sigh, and let her fingers drift to the side of Severus’ neck. “His pulse is rapid.” 

“What do we do?”

She rose from her seat and pulled me away from the sitting room and into the kitchen. “Unfortunately, we can’t give him any potions or use magic on him—since I have no idea what they gave him, I don’t know what the side-effects might be. Great Aunt Cassiopeia Black was a Lotos-Eater back in the day, and her parents tried everything they could to wean her off the ‘midnight oil’. The Blacks are a paranoid lot to begin with, but Merlin, it was terrible when it came to Cassiopeia. That’s how she died—she was convinced someone, or something, was after her cache, so she stuffed most of it in sticky buns and ate them.”

“Bloody hell,” I muttered. 

Andromeda nodded. “I remember I was allowed to see her once, before the end.” She shuddered. “Remus, you need to think about this, _really_ think about this. If you help Severus, you’ll have to commit to him full-time. He’ll be extremely ill, psychotic and possibly violent. And it will come in waves at first, then a constant state of instability. Teddy can’t be around that. How will you care for him?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed heavily. Damn my bleeding heart. I was torn between regret for having rescued the man and feeling guilty to the verge of martyrdom. Should I have just left him there, knowing that wizarding society rarely, if ever, thought of him, and then only as someone long dead and gone? If I had known what freeing him would entail, would I have still left him there in that room to die… alone? Merlin, just remembering the unnerving sightless stare of that golem made my chest tighten and my throat clog. But what about my son? My flesh and blood? How could I put him aside to care for a…

What was Severus to me? 

A colleague, as he had said before? We worked at the same school together, briefly. We were members of the Order of the Phoenix; both of us spies, though my work had little cause to be remembered other than infiltrating various werewolf groups. Severus, on the other hand… I knew that he had spied for Dumbledore since before actually becoming a professor, but if even a fraction of what Harry had told me was true, it was a wonder that the man hadn’t collapsed with exhaustion or gone completely around the bend trying to keep his loyalties hidden. That was the whole of our professional work together—barely enough to consider us associates, let alone ‘colleagues’. 

A friend? Not by _any_ stretch of the imagination. The only time he tolerated my presence was during my year of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts—a curt or clipped ‘Lupin’ during meals in the Great Hall, and snide comments hinting at my affliction when presenting me with the most potent formula of the Wolfsbane potion to date. Hardly winning examples of a bosom friendship. 

Definitely not a lover or partner—did Severus even think about sex? Ever? When I'd known him, he had seemed more inclined to snarl at anyone that came near him than... well, anything else. I scarcely believed that anyone had ever made it past the permanent sneer etched on his face. I remembered Regulus latching onto him when he had begun school, but I thought Severus had seen him more as Sirius’ little brother, than an actual individual who might have fancied him. In our first years, Lily had defended Severus against James and Sirius, but he had appeared more irritated with her interference than anything remotely grateful or affectionate. Was Severus even capable of affection? From what I had observed of our mutual past, I greatly doubted it. 

So why was I contemplating helping this acerbic bastard through what I sure would be the rockiest road to recovery ever? 

“Please.”

I was pulled from my ruminations by the soft plea. I followed Andromeda’s gaze, which was focused on the wizard moving restlessly on the sofa.

“No… I don’t know anything. Help me!” 

Severus’ soft whimpers made my heart lurch, and I had to bite my lower lip to keep from tearing up. Was it pity that had compelled me to help this man? Maybe, but not likely. I was never one to pity anybody, especially since I hated having that sentiment directed towards me. My brain was about to burst from the whirling conflict, when Andromeda placed her hand on my arm and offered a resolution.

“The worst of it will last about a week, if I remember correctly. Teddy and I can… well, we can take a holiday of sorts.” She gave me a small smile. “Yule is next week and Harry’s been begging us to come and visit for longer than a day. Going to London would serve a dual purpose; we can stay with Harry, and you can take care of Severus.”

Panic edged its way up my spine. I had never been away from my son for that length of time. “What if—”

“I have raised children before, Remus,” she reminded me with a laugh. “And trust me. You’ll be so busy caring for Severus, you won’t even notice that we’re gone.”

It really was the perfect solution, though I still felt the urge to cling to Teddy at the mere mention of them going somewhere without me. But if what Andromeda was saying was anywhere near what would actually in store for the broken man lying in front of me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to care for him and my child at the same time. 

She patted my arm and moved towards the staircase. “You can meet us in London next Monday. Severus too, if he’s able.”

My eyes widened, realizing a very important fact. “Harry! He doesn’t know Severus is alive!” 

“And he shouldn’t, not until Severus is more himself,” Andromeda cautioned. “Harry, dear boy that he is, is very impressionable and takes things to heart. If he knew that Severus was alive, but not well, the next thing you know he'd be here with you, wanting to help. With their history, even with his memory loss, it might work against Severus, and it would certainly upset Harry. There's no point in agitating them both to no purpose. It’s best to wait until Severus is well again, and let him decide if we wishes to tell Harry—or anyone else, for that matter—of his ‘very much alive’ status.”

I nodded; she was right, especially concerning Harry. I could imagine his confusion and dismay to find that someone he had respected, and to whom he owed such gratitude, might not even recall the boy’s name. “All right. I’ll send Harry an owl to let him know that you’re coming. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

Andromeda nodded. "I'll go upstairs and pack."

I sat down to compose a letter to Harry, telling him that Andromeda and Teddy were coming for the holidays, and that I would follow in a week’s time… hopefully. As I tied the missive to the leg of our barn owl, Mallory, and watched him fly off, I had an overwhelming sense that things were about to get a lot more hectic.

~*~

Within the hour, we'd received Harry's reply and Teddy and Andromeda were on their way to London. Harry, of course, was elated to have them there, but the minute they were gone, I missed Teddy fiercely. I missed Andromeda’s comforting presence too, but I keenly felt my son’s absence. I busied myself by tidying up the spare bedroom across the hall from mine, to avoid dwelling overmuch on what had happened and what Andromeda had warned me was to come. 

Sometime in mid-afternoon, Severus awoke from his fevered dreams and sat up, his arms and head dangling between his legs, looking very much like he’d had a hard night of drinking with no Sober Up potion in sight. He drank the glass of water I gave him, but proceeded to throw most of it back up. Just as I was about to coax him to drink another, I spied a sheaf of paper on the kitchen table. 

Glancing over the parchment, in Andromeda’s clear handwriting, I saw that it was a list of symptoms I could expect Severus to experience over the next several days—tremors, dehydration and disorientation amongst them. She had also named some foods that I should have on hand that he would be able to tolerate: bananas, yams and rice topped the list. Reminders to keep him hydrated were scattered throughout, including mention of a nutritional potion in the refrigerator on the second shelf that she had made just before she left. I was not to use it unless Severus was unable to hold down a glass of water in twelve hours. 

A hacking cough from Severus made me look over to where he stood at the kitchen sink again. “All right?”

He sent me a glare and spit in the sink. “Brilliant,” he said flatly. “I think for my next act, I’ll carve out my own heart with a spoon.”

I didn’t mean to chuckle, it just slipped out. His scowl made me smile, the opposite of what he was going for, I’m sure. My good humour didn’t last long, though; the fatigue was setting in and I needed to get him upstairs. “I have a room ready for you if you’d like to lie down," I offered. "I’m sure you’re knackered.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, then with a nod he straightened, ran his fingers through his stringy mess of hair and followed me up the stairs. When we reached the door, I opened it and led him inside. “You should be comfortable here. There’s a loo down the hall, first door on your left, and my bedroom is just across the hall.”

Severus studied the room, as I expected him to. He may have lost a great deal of his memories—even some that pertained to me, if I were to hazard a guess—but at his core, he was still a cautious person. Perhaps his childhood had been darker than I knew. I doubted seriously that he had any recollection of the events at the turn of the war and his part in Dumbledore’s death. That was for the best, I thought. Had Harry not told me of Severus’ true part in the war, I wouldn’t have been so forgiving when I found him at St. Mungo’s. 

Or, maybe his perpetual suspicion had something to do with our school years, the way he had been treated and behaved in turn. The constant overwhelming guilt that I carried—including having turned a blind eye all those times Sirius had decided he was bored and used Severus as a means of entertainment—threatened to consume me, to the point that I felt as if there were something cold actually crawling across my brain. I shuddered. No, I wouldn’t start down that path, at least not while Severus had no recollection of the events. My penance, long overdue, would start when the wizard currently peering into the closet understood why I must make amends.

“This room is adequate,” Severus announced a moment later. He perched on the edge of the narrow single bed. 

I smiled hesitantly. I honestly didn’t know how to deal with this calm version of Snape. I was used to the scathing vitriol that was apparent in everything the man did or said. The next few days would prove whether, beneath that placid exterior, the sarcastic bastard was truly absent, or if it was merely lurking, waiting. I was not looking forward to watching him go through withdrawal. 

“There are a few charms I can set in place, if you would like, to prevent injury to yourself once the tremors set in,” I told him. “I know I have a hard time the morning after a...” I snapped my mouth shut. I had completely forgotten that this Snape did not know of my lycanthropy.

Severus arched a single brow. “Morning after?” He crossed his arms and gave me an assessing look. “Are you an alcoholic?”

I couldn’t contain the snort of laughter that escaped. If only that were the case. “Ah, no. While I like the occasional Firewhiskey, I don’t indulge often. Plus, alcohol tends to interfere with the potions I’m taking.”

His gaze narrowed. “Epileptic seizures, then?” 

Merlin, this was difficult. I really want to avoid telling him the whole of my ‘furry problem’, so as not to complicate the situation any further. “I have... a condition that affects me from time to time. It leaves me drained, aching and... well, unfit for even the most basic of activities for a few days after an attack.”

Severus’ eyes ran down the length of my body and he frowned. “You seem fit.”

Resolutely, I shoved down the annoying itch of warmth invading my limbs that his intense perusal had aroused. “My last attack was about a week ago, so I'm not feeling too awful at the moment. Plus, the Healer at St. Mungo’s dosed me with a powerful painkiller just before I found you.” Tentatively, I showed him my left hand, the joints red and swollen. “Long term, they tell me that this will only get worse, though.”

Abruptly, Severus rose and took my hand in his, turning it over and running his fingers along mine, pausing briefly over each gnarled knuckle. I had to clench my teeth to stifle the whimper that clogged my throat. But his soft strokes against my pained flesh were gentle, almost compassionate, if such an emotion could be attributed to Snape, of all people. If I jerked my hand away, I was sure he would see it as a rejection, a dislike of his touch. 

The truth was much more complicated than that, however. 

The dearth of affectionate contact that my infection enforced upon me had been devastating. To a small child, a parent’s love is everything and it forms a basis for future relationships. So, when the pats on my head ceased, when the loving embrace of my mother stopped, when the stink of their fear invaded my nostrils, I knew it was because of what I had become. I remember weeping all night and into the early hours, wondering what I had done to earn the look of pity from my mother and disgust from my father after a transformation. I remember them fighting, often, about how to properly care for me. I was nine when I overheard my father tell my mother that I should have been ‘put down’ after Greyback’s bite. He hadn’t meant for me to hear, of course, but things between my parents had changed after that argument. I rarely saw my father after that night. I had always hated the disease that made me different from other children, but his words and subsequent absence left a gaping hole in my heart that had never been filled. Rejected, I responded in kind and soon learned to shun physical contact, even going out of my way to avoid large crowds so that I wouldn’t accidentally bump into someone. 

That had all changed when I was accepted at Hogwarts. James had been the one to figure it out first, guessing that my chronic illnesses were too regular to be chance. Sirius and Peter, once they learned the secret, were especially chuffed to have a werewolf amongst them. They had made my life enjoyable, whereas before, it was merely tolerable. That was when I realised how starved I was for physical affection. I had loved every pat on the back, every ruffle of my hair, every embrace they bestowed upon me, despite knowing of the affliction that made me a monster a few days out of every month. It fanned my anger towards my father, wondering how a couple of young wizards with more balls than brains were so easily able to love and care for me, while he had proposed having me killed. 

It had been so easy to fall in love with Sirius. He had personified life and laughter in everything he did; he had been my brightest star and my darkest moment. His rough and tender love for me always took my breath away. Sometimes I still had nightmares about the expression on his face as he was pulled into the Veil; dreams that filled me with astonishment, panic, and grief. I suspected that Harry did too, though he never told me—I could see it, though, the slight edge in his eyes the morning after such a dream. A glance between us, and it was as if it were happening all over again. I had to pause on such occasions, remind myself that I had things worth living for, that I couldn’t go where Sirius had gone. 

Dora, too, had been so easy to love. She had the same passion about life and all its mysteries as Sirius. It was a wonder I had lasted so long against another member of the Black family. Teddy was much like her, a fact for which I was grateful. As I laid him in his cot of a night, I always told him how brave his mother was—both in fighting and in loving me, how beautiful she was and how very kind. There were bad days, of course, days when I missed her infectious vibrancy, how she would always prod me out of a black funk. But I knew she was safe now—firmly inserted in our hearts, and safe from the pain of life. 

This new sensation was troubling, though. For all the years that I had known Severus Snape, I had thought him a bitter, antagonising, dark man. Now, I was being forced to reassess my impressions of him. 

Severus stopped with his fingers over one particularly painful spot. “Tell me, when do your symptoms peak?”

“Almost immediately after an attack,” I replied, my voice unsteady. I wanted him to keep my hand in his, and if answering his questions would do that, I'd tell him anything he liked. “The joints swell to the point I cannot walk or hold a cup.”

He frowned, alternating his stare between my face and hand. “You have gashes across your face; elsewhere on your body, too, if I’m not mistaken. Your ‘illness’ cycles monthly.”

I held my breath, positive he would make the connection without me revealing a thing, waiting for the stench of fear to permeate the room. What happened though, astonished me.

“I cannot cure this,” he said regretfully, touching a particularly deep gash across my nose that ended at the top of my upper lip. The tip of his finger lingered there, stealing any ability I had to breathe. Then his hand dropped and he caressed the bent shapes of my fingers. “But, I can cure this.”

“What? You know what this is?” I rasped, vibrating with anticipation.

He continued to stroke gently, rubbing slightly to ease a knot of muscle at the base of my thumb. “I remember…” He closed his eyes for moment. “… Antonin.” 

“Dolohov?”

His eyes opened and he nodded. “No mind, only rage and depravity.” 

He tried to concentrate again, but it was too much for him and he swayed forward to collapse against me. I caught him, my arms wrapped around his thin frame, dragged him over to the bed and watched him sprawl limply on the mattress when I let him fall. Worried, I felt for his pulse: rapid, but not overly so. His skin was a bit clammy, so I divested him of his shoes and socks, and manoeuvred him under the covers. By the time he was situated, I was breaking out in a sweat and my joints were complaining in a loud chorus. I glanced at the clock: half-past seven. No wonder the man was exhausted. 

I had seen or heard no word up until that point of any mischief at St. Mungo’s. Either the still unknown ‘they’—who could be anyone from Ministry officials to rogue Death Eaters—believed the golem to be the real Severus, or they had seen through the deception, but truly didn’t know what happened to him. Otherwise, I assumed, they would’ve been on our doorstep in no time. I took one last look at Severus, his limbs twitching as he slept, and closed the door. I set a ward on the room that would alert me if his condition changed—for the worse or for the better—and shuffled to my own room to drop myself face-first on my bed with a groan. 

It had only been six hours since I had laid eyes on Severus Snape, and already my bones, muscles and spirit were weary, taxed beyond endurance by his presence. Nevertheless, as my eyes closed, I honestly felt I wouldn’t have it any other way.


	3. Chapter 3

Severus’ screams woke me from my slumber, the sound sending chills up my spine.

“My head!” he shouted. “Get out of my head!”

I was across the hall as quickly as my feet could carry me. It was full-on dark, so I switched on the light, but Severus’ cries only increased.

“Daggers! So many daggers, pricking at my skin!”

Immediately I dimmed the light until it was merely a soft glow in the room, enough that Severus could see me and not be startled by my presence, but hopefully low enough not to pain him. “Is that better?” I asked.

He whimpered and curled in on himself, his fists clutched at the sides of his head, bits of hair between his fingers. I slowly approached and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Before I realised what I was doing, my hand was on his shoulder in a bid to comfort him, my thumb rubbing circles over his bicep. Just as my mind registered what I was doing, and I thought to pull my hand away, I noticed that Severus’ rapid breathing had calmed, enough so that he eased his fingers free of his abused locks and he placed one shaking hand atop mine. 

Slight tremors made his fingers twitch, alternating between tightly gripping my hand and skimming over it. I hardly knew which was more disconcerting: the squeezing pressure or the fluttery touches. Both did funny things to my stomach. Feeling the dampness of Severus’ shirt, I started to remove my hand so that I could get him some fresh clothing, but his grasp intensified.

“Don’t go,” he said through chattering teeth. 

I swallowed against the ache in my throat. He sounded so… broken. I wanted to help ease his suffering, but he was shivering, and I didn’t think it was due to withdrawal. Placing my free hand on his brow, I found that it was radiating heat. I frowned. Chills and fever—not good. Slowly, I pulled out my wand and showed it to Severus.

“I’m going to run a diagnostic scan on you, all right?”

He glanced at me, blinked and looked away. I took it as tacit consent. Quickly, I used the spells I had picked up from Andromeda—she had often used them on me at certain times; not only was he running a fever, he was severely malnourished, dehydrated, and his potassium levels were dangerously low. He also had two fractures: one at the base of his right index finger and the other on his left great toe. His right rotator cuff was stiff with overuse. Multiple healed fractures and scars ran the length of his body. The man was an utter mess.

The convulsive grasp I had noted was probably due to a combination of low potassium and fever. I couldn’t tell if the healed fractures were recent or from long ago, but the swollen joint on his right index finger was very current—probably within the last day or so. I knew Severus had been abused and slowly poisoned during his ‘incarceration’, but I now came to realise the extent of that torture. He had, or knew, something that someone deemed valuable, and when he hadn’t given them what they wanted, ‘they’ decided to persuade him. Forcefully. 

According to Andromeda, it was inadvisable to give Severus any potions—until the one he had been drugged with had been identified, there could be any sort of adverse reaction or side-effect. Seeing his obvious discomfort, however, I searched my mind for anything that could be substituted to provide relief. There was always the Muggle paracetamol that Andromeda liked to experiment with, but it probably wouldn’t even take the edge off the pain Severus must be feeling.

“Hurts,” Severus croaked, and I looked down to see that I was unwittingly touching the swollen, bruised flesh of his finger.

“ _Episkey_ ,” I said, hoping it would at least reduce the swelling. His look changed to one of relief, so I gently examined the digit and found that it moved more freely. Now, for the next pressing issue. “Do you think you can handle eating and drinking something?” I asked.

He licked his cracked lips. He had to be parched. I thought he was going to refuse, but in the end, he relented and nodded. “Small portions only.”

I gently extricated my hand and stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Do you want me to leave the light on, or turn it off?”

“Off,” he muttered, and pulled the duvet over his head. 

I turned off the light and left the door open so that I could hear if anything happened while I was downstairs. When I arrived in the kitchen, I went over Andromeda’s list again to give me an idea of what Severus could stomach at the moment. Perhaps I was being overly optimistic, but if this episode was the worst of it, Severus would be back to himself in no time.

~*~

Wrong. I was so very, utterly wrong. Miserably so. With a capital M. No, all the letters were capital. The days and nights that followed were hellish and filled with things I had no idea that the human psyche could conjure. 

Severus had managed to take five bites of banana and a few swallows of some tepid water. Five minutes later, it had reappeared… all over me, the bedding and Severus himself. I cursed my idiocy that I hadn’t thought to provide a rubbish bin for him to use. I used a Cleansing Charm to get rid of the mess but the stench still lingered, so I stripped the bed and asked Severus for his clothes. You would’ve thought I was asking him to voluntarily incarcerate himself in Azkaban. He cowered in the corner near the bed, shaking his head. I pleaded with him to no avail, until it occurred to me to warn him that ‘they’ would smell him from afar if he didn’t bathe. 

I had never seen a wizard move that fast. He was in the loo, naked, staring at the bathtub when I found him. I turned on the taps, making the water as warm as I thought he could tolerate—not only would he be clean, but the heat might help his chronic shivering. He had rid himself of the clothing, but I only had a quick moment to scan his body for any bruises, marks, anything out of the ordinary, before he settled himself in the porcelain tub. I asked him if he needed any help. He looked at me strangely, as if the suggestion of ‘help’ was a foreign concept to him. Considering what he'd been through, I supposed it must be. 

I did not stay—obviously he was capable of washing himself—but changed the bedding and found a few items of mine I thought he could wear, with some alterations, of course. Just as I was about to knock on the door and deliver a set of pyjama bottoms, an old blue t-shirt and a ratty dressing gown, I heard a splash and yelp on the other side. I quickly opened the door and found Severus convulsing in the tub, his body shaking from a seizure. 

The next few minutes were a blur. I dropped the clothing and rushed to pull his head above water so he wouldn’t drown. I had no idea how to stop or even shorten his convulsions, so I would just have to wait the duration of the episode. I shifted him until his face was captured between my hands to cushion his head from striking the sides of the tub.

His eyes rolled and his eyelids fluttered, and I had to stifle a whimper of my own when I spied flecks of blood dotting his mouth and nose. The seizure lasted three minutes, though it seemed like far longer as I ignored the pain in my hands, knees and back from keeping him immobilised. When at last he sagged in my arms, I blew out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Taking a flannel, I dipped it in the water and brought it to his face, gently wiping away the slow trickle of blood. Then, gritting my teeth against the agony shooting through my body, I pulled Severus from the tub, cast a Featherweight Charm on him and brought him to his bedroom.

When I had him settled on the bed, I dried and dressed him. Once he was beneath the covers, he started shaking again. I wanted to help, but before I could be of any use to Severus, I had to take one of the potions Andromeda had on stand-by for when my own symptoms became worse. As the bitter tasting liquid slid thickly down my throat, I could only marvel at the irony. 

It was a tragic comedy of the blind leading the blind; I didn’t know which one of us was worse off. We might both be dead by the end of the week, instead of on the mend. 

When I was younger, before I fully realised what Greyback’s curse had done to me, I had told my mother that I wanted to be a Healer, a Medi-wizard, a doctor, something in the medical field. I hadn’t understood at the time why she had frowned at my words and tactfully suggested that I seek out other avenues of study. But the older I grew, and the more fear I saw induced by the mere whiff of the word ‘werewolf’, the more I recognized that my mother had only been trying to be kind in diverting my attention away from anything that would bring me into direct contact with others on a constant basis. I had lain to rest any hope of such a profession long before I left Hogwarts. Later, my mother had admitted I would’ve made a brilliant Healer if I’d had the opportunity. But by then, I could only laugh to myself. She was wrong; I would’ve made a terrible Healer. I had no stomach for overwhelming scents and couldn’t fully control my reactions to my surroundings—both integral to working with patients. Though there was no safer alternative, I realised my inability to properly care for Severus confirmed my mind-set; I was out of my depth and I hope I didn’t inadvertently kill the poor bastard. 

Settling into an overstuffed chair, I planned to stand vigil that night, knowing when Severus awoke, he would be in a fair amount of pain from the seizure. I tried to keep my eyes open, I really did. But the exhaustion of the day, combined with the potion coursing through my system, lulled me into a fitful sleep.

When I next opened my eyes, Severus was not in his bed. I sat up abruptly and looked around the room. He was the window, stark naked save for the dressing gown hanging off his shoulders. The wintry sunlight made his pallid complexion even more so, emphasising the hollows of his cheeks and eye-sockets, making them look darker by the contrast. He looked little more than a walking corpse. 

“Severus?”

He didn’t move, and his voice was hoarse and tentative. “I remember…” His brow creased as his eyes darted here and there. “Your name is Remus Lupin.”

“Yes,” I replied, sure that I would hear that vicious tongue wag and call me out on all sorts of crimes that I had apparently perpetrated upon him. If he recalled who I was, he might also know the events surrounding the two of us.

“You tried to kill me once…” His voice trailed off as he turned to look at me.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and with an effort kept my eyes on his face. He knew. So much for keeping the lycanthropy a secret. “I don’t think you’ll believe me, but I swear to you, I had no inkling of what Sirius was planning,” I whispered, my voice raw with bitterness. 

He began to rub his temples, and I could tell that he was searching for memories that were lost in the fog of his mind. He growled in frustration. “Sirius… why can I not see his face in my mind? Why are my thoughts so tangled? I know who you are, what you did, but I only vaguely remember this Sirius. He was… a Black, yes?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“There was a girl, but I don’t… her name escapes me. I think she was kind to me.”

“Do you recall what she looked like?”

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Orange, bright, daisies… no, that smells wrong. Ice lollies. Dirty river. Argh!” He thumped his fist against the window frame. “Fish bowl,” he said sadly. 

None of it made any sense whatsoever. “Perhaps you should sleep some more,” I suggested. I stood and made my way to the door. “Maybe try and eat a bit beforehand.”

When I paused, waiting for his answer, he flicked his wrist at me in an imperious wave, giving me a brief glimpse of the old Severus. “Well? I don’t have all day to dawdle, Lupin.” 

Unable to help myself, I smiled a bit. “Anything else, your majesty?”

He arched a brow. “Am I royalty, then? I don’t seem to recall ever having sat on a throne.”

I chuckled. “No, not even close. Well, you used to be a royal pain in my arse, but alas, no blue blood running through your veins that I know of.”

Merlin shag me sideways, but the bastard smirked at me. “'Used to be'? Then I shall have to try harder.”

Laughing, I closed the door before I did something incredibly stupid… like hug him.

~*~

Later that evening, after Severus had managed to keep a few bites of porridge, rice and banana in his stomach, things took an abrupt change for the… odd. 

At times, he had no sense of my presence; others, he would stare at me, his gaze slightly feral. What struck me to the core, though, was how similar his symptoms were to mine before and after a transformation. I had lived with the prickly skin, the agitation, the restlessness for most of my life; I was used to it. But to a wizard that had prided himself on his composure in a crisis, it could only render his already fragile mind close to near breaking. 

I had never been around anyone that suffered from delusions—at least not the sort associated with withdrawal—so I was completely unprepared for Severus’ fidgety movements and absolute certainty that something was crawling on, and under, his skin. Several times he shucked off his clothes, and finally, I just let him twist on the sheets in the nude. 

“Get them off me! They’re eating me alive!”

I restrained Severus’ hands so that he wouldn’t claw the skin on his arms, face, or anywhere else. He'd already torn bloody gouges in a number of places. I had no idea what sort of terrors he was experiencing—there was literally nothing touching him other than a bed sheet and my hands—but clearly it was powerful enough to make him feel under almost constant attack. 

“The skull is the key,” he moaned, and bucked his hips in an attempt to throw me off. “Drowning, down, so far down, can’t breathe!” His eyes were tightly closed, his face pinched, his head thrashing from side to side. 

I had no idea what he was talking about. “Severus? Severus, listen to me… no one is here to hurt you, settle down, I’m not going to—” 

A swift kick of his knee and I was doubled over in pain. I dropped to the floor, cupping my groin. “Oh, bloody fuck,” I whispered in anguish. Tears fringed my lashes as I tried to breathe through the searing pain in my balls. 

It seemed like several hours went by while I lay there, but in reality, it was probably only a couple of minutes. A noise, and then a pair of bare feet appeared in my field of vision. Severus crouched down, naked, and flicked my nose. “Your colour and smell are different.” He scratched at his raw wrist. “Not like them, not like them at all.” His laugh had a mad tinge to it. “Come to poke at me, no. Come to poke at you, yes!” 

The pain was muddling my thoughts, I knew, but even without that, his words were complete nonsense. “Not…” I huffed, for it was all I could manage, “going… to hurt… you.”

His palm slapped the floor in front of my face, the sound exploding in my ears. “Lies,” he hissed. “You all lie! You will find nothing!”

“Severus,” I pleaded, though I didn't know what I was asking for.

“Pain?” he asked, laying his face flush on the floor, his nose touching mine.

“Yes,” I panted.

He reached over and tapped me on the forehead, his smile crooked and strange. “Try being a Death Eater, and then tell me what pain is.” His smile shifted to a scowl. “I was a Death Eater. Do you know what it’s like having snakes crawl through your veins? Or your bones vibrate with the need to murder? To get on your fucking knees and lick the boots of the one that holds the key to your collar?”

The tears in my eyes now weren't for my own pain, but his. I sniffed, and Severus started petting me, running his fingers through the greying strands at my temple. 

“Such a noble beast,” he murmured, and his voice had lost that harsh quality from only a moment ago. His hand drifted to my face, tracing the long scars across my nose and cheek. “Nobody wanted to touch you after this, did they?”

A sob welled in my throat so strong I could not suppress it. “No,” I choked, my tears falling to the floor.

Severus pressed the pad of his thumb beneath my eye and swiped at the moisture. “He didn’t cry when I killed him.”

I inhaled sharply and tried to move away, but Severus, still lying with his cheek on the floor facing me, took hold of my face and kept me there.

“Dumbledore didn’t cry,” he reiterated, and my stomach turned. “He smiled at me.”

“Why?” I was so horribly confused; this Severus was unlike any aspect of the man that I had known before, and the haze of drug-induced reactions and swift changes of mood were utterly disorienting. 

Now he was sneering, the twist of his lip ugly and cruel. “No doubt because he was going on to his ‘next great adventure’ while leaving me here to endure more pain and…” He trailed off, confused. Another memory block. His hand dropped from my face and curled into a fist, which he banged on the wooden floorboard. “Why?” he roared, his nose pressed to the floor. “Why?” 

Almost as suddenly as it had begun, Severus’ tirade abruptly ended. As if he had been hit with a Stunner, he sagged limply, his eyes closed and his breathing slowed and deepened.

“Severus?” I ventured, waiting for the backlash. 

When nothing happened, I rolled over with a groan. The pain was still there, but not as sharp as before. Unfortunately, there was no spell to help with this sort of thing. Well, there might have been, but I wasn't about to risk pointing my wand at my groin. I managed to stand, with no elegance or grace at all, and levitated Severus back onto the bed. I had half a mind to join him, exhausted as I was. Instead, I collapsed in the chair just as darkness swallowed my mind.

~*~

“Cold.”

Something was pulling me from the depth of a warm cocoon.

“Warming Charm, please.”

My mouth tasted like cotton as I pried one eye open to see Severus huddled in the corner of the bed, dressed in the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms I had given him, the duvet loosely wrapped around him. I blinked several times to adjust to the image, frowning. The lucidity that had eluded him for most of the previous day appeared to be very firmly in place this morning. 

“I would cast one on myself," he said almost apologetically, "but I lack a wand. Please. A Warming Charm, if you would.”

“Yes, of course,” I said through an enormous yawn. I sent a ball of warmth his way, then slowly stood and stretched, my bones popping until sharp fire skittered across my lower back. “Bloody…” The twinges of pain stole my breath. “Right. No more sleeping in chairs.” I limped to the door and looked back at Severus, who was watching me pensively. “Think you could manage something to eat?”

He nodded, then furrowed his brows in concentration. “You are unwell.”

His words were not exactly monumentally perceptive; anyone who took more than a casual glance at me could tell I was less than optimal. I shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Old age,” I explained.

His eyes narrowed. “Lie.”

“Really, Severus, it’s fine; I’ll be right as rain by—”

“Lie,” he said, more forcefully.

“Relax. We’re supposed to be focusing on getting you better, and—”

“Lie!” he gritted through his teeth, almost spitting the word. He snorted, mirthlessly. “And the next thing out of your mouth will be a lie as well, so save your breath.” He gave me a disgusted look. “Your whole pathetic life is built upon lies, with only enough of the truth thrown in so you look believable. You tell me that you will not hurt me, that you won’t turn me over to them, but why should I believe you? It seems your greatest achievement is lying to yourself; lying to others must look like Beginner’s Potion class.”

“Don’t!” I said, anger rising. I clenched and unclenched my fist, desperately trying to get my temper under control. “You know _nothing_ about me!”

He snorted and turned away. “Go away. I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, no," I said, furious now. "You’re not pulling this shite!” I stalked across the room until I was good and proper in his face, his hooked nose touching mine. “Listen well, Severus Snape. I pulled you out of that room you were locked in. I have given up my time, my home, even my son—who is infinitely more precious to me than you will ever be—to care for you to the best of my abilities. So don't you _dare_ accuse me of not helping you. 

“You want to talk about lies and betrayal? Whoever was holding you was force-feeding you an opium derivative on an almost constant basis, which is damaging at best and lethal at worst, for Merlin knows what reason. Compliance is the most obvious, but one of the side-effects is memory loss, so whoever was dosing you was also subtly trying to kill you because there was no way you were going to be able to remember anything with that much of the drug in your system. You were also being tortured—do you know how many of your bones had been broken? Or that two were broken when we found you? What do you know that has someone so hell-bent on extracting it that they don’t care if they kill you?” 

Severus tucked his head, trying to bury it in the duvet, but I grabbed his chin roughly and refused to let him look away. “I understand you don’t want to tell me, truly I do. I get that you don’t trust me. I don’t know what you do remember and what you don’t, but I’m not asking you to tell me. Honestly, I don’t think I _want_ you to tell me. But I can’t keep you safe if you fight me at every turn. Now, I’ll ask again: do you think you can manage to eat something?”

He looked as if he would refuse again, but he surprised me by nodding. I sighed heavily, let go of his chin and made my way to the door, unable to hide the limp on my right side. 

“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,” I told him, and shut the door.

~*~

“You are unwell.”

Oh, not this again.

It was the fourth day free of the potion, but only the second time he had sat at the table in the kitchen. The first time he had made it down, he had collapsed on the sofa afterwards and I'd had to levitate him back upstairs. Hallucinations, another seizure and me scrambling to keep him from jumping out of a second-story window, had followed that afternoon. He had managed to keep a bowl of mashed bananas and rice, and two cups of tea in his stomach that evening, though, so I counted it as a small victory that he had been able to sleep through the night without much interruption. Now, he peered intently at me, as if dissecting me with his eyes, causing my irritation from the loss of sleep and the chronic throb of pain to flare and simmer just beneath the surface. 

“I am fine this morning, only a twinge.” He couldn’t call me a liar on that one, as he had two days before; this time it was true. Well, mostly true.

“If by twinge you mean sharp, stabbing pain, then certainly, only a twinge,” he muttered, condescension dripping from his words. 

I let my fork clang to my plate in annoyance. “This is not up for discussion.”

He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips, studying me.

“What?” I snapped. 

“Two weeks; three at most,” he answered cryptically. 

I shoved my plate to the side, sat back until my chair tilted on two legs and crossed my arms. “For what?”

A slow smirk curled his lips. “I thought it wasn’t up for discussion?”

“Tell me,” I grated, tired of his games.

“Fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “That is my prognosis on your lifespan if you remain stubborn.”

My chair came thudding back down to the floor. “My... lifespan?”

He nodded and pointed to my hand. “I told you I could cure that. If I do not, the spell will continue to infect your system. Your next transformation will be your last.”

I sighed, my eyes closing in resignation. Yes, he had said that he remembered who I was, and events surrounding me, but now he had undeniably confirmed that he knew I was a werewolf. I was morbidly curious enough to wonder if he knew about it before he recalled who I was. "When did you know?"

Severus snorted. “I have always known. Did I not tell you that I remembered you, Remus Lupin?” 

I gaped at him, feeling as though I'd been punched in the chest. He had known, all along? “But you always hated me! Why did you tolerate me taking care of you if he knew who I was?”

He looked away, uncomfortable. “Perhaps you were the only who would _tolerate_ helping _me_.”

The dull ache that resided in my chest concerning Severus bloomed into a sharp, prickling pain. I smiled when I wanted to weep. “You are the epitome of a problem patient, I’ll give you that.”

Severus’ reply was drowned out by a frantic voice calling my name from the sitting room, and a moment later, Harry was standing at the entry to the kitchen. He went pale when his eyes caught sight of Severus sitting across the table from me. 

“Snape?” he stammered, staring, clutching the doorpost to keep himself upright.

“Yes?” Severus replied with an arched brow. His nonchalance and affected blank look gave the appearance that he had no idea who Harry was.

Harry lost his grip and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.


	4. Chapter 4

“Remus, you’re not going to believe this dream I had!”

I bit my lips to keep from smirking. “Oh?”

Harry was laid out on the sofa, an arm across his brow, with a confused look on his face. “Well, I dreamed that Kingsley called me to the Ministry concerning a sensitive matter, and Andromeda asked me to check up on you on my way home, but when I got here, someone was…” Harry sat up, a little unsteadily. “Wait. That actually happened, didn’t it?”

“Which part?” I asked with a chuckle. “You dreaming, or—”

A look of aggravation and impatience flitted across Harry’s face. “I know what I saw, Remus. Or rather, _who_ I saw, sitting at your table.”

I loved Harry dearly; there was no question he was like a son to me. But he tended to become upset when things were kept from him—a product, I suspect, of having been kept in the dark most of his life by Dumbledore. When his temper notched up, there was a glint in his eyes that reminded me of why and how this young man had destroyed one of the darkest wizards in our history. I had noticed, lately, that his behaviour had become more withdrawn, a tad brooding, though I had no explanation as to why. It raised my hackles, being in proximity to Harry during one of his ‘moods’. 

“Well?” he snapped when I didn’t answer. “Where is he?”

“I assume you mean me,” drawled a voice from the entry to the kitchen. 

Harry sat bolt upright and turned to stare at Severus, who was standing calmly in the doorway with a mug of tea in his hands. “You’re alive,” Harry whispered. His throat worked, and I thought for a moment that he might cry. “Alive.”

I had not seen for myself the memories that Severus had given Harry with his dying breath, though Harry had told me most of what they contained. It perhaps explained why what I saw in Harry’s eyes was a paradox: grief and anger, relief and caution, respect and guilt. All these directed towards Severus, who returned Harry’s regard with confusion. 

Severus was caught in Harry’s gaze until a shiver wracked his body, causing him to sway a bit, held up only by the fact he was leaning against the doorframe. 

I stood, grabbed the quilt from the end of the sofa, and went to Severus to wrap it around his now-shuddering form. “Too much, hmm?”

He nodded, and I took the mug of tea out of his hands, holding his arm to support him, as we turned to make our way upstairs. I heard Harry’s footsteps following us, but I glanced back and sent him a pointed look. “Not now, Harry.”

His crestfallen expression reproached me, but I couldn’t deal with him and Severus at the same time. Harry remained on the bottom step, watching us, as we continued up the stairs and down the hall until we reached Severus’ room. I led him in and sat him down on the edge of the bed. 

“Who is that young man?” Severus asked, frowning. “He seems familiar.” Another shiver. “V-very powerful.”

I sat opposite him in my chair, and wondered what to say, how much he remembered. “Does the name ‘Potter’ mean anything to you?”

Severus scowled. “Black. Green. Glasses. Red, all covered in red. Serpents,” he hissed. 

Kaleidoscopic as his statement was, it was fairly accurate. “That about sums Harry up, yes.”

“Flying, flying too high, falling, falling so deep. Cannot stop… the skull is the key,” he continued, staring at something only he could see, sounding hypnotized. “Midnight oil will make Snape sleep, make him speak, make him dead. Make sure no one finds him, make him forget.”

His eyes were darting back and forth, and I guessed his paranoia was returning with a vengeance. I couldn’t fault him in this instance, though; there were too many variables, too many facts and coincidences pointing to the very real possibility that there were two factions trying to get at Snape—one wanting to know what information he had, and one to silence him. These two could very well be the same person, or multiple people. It was maddening to have so many clues but no answers. Had I the skill, I would’ve tried Legilimency, but as fractured as Severus’ mind seemed to be, I wasn’t sure I’d have any sort of success, even had I been proficient.

Though he was completely wrapped in the quilt, he still shook, looking on the verge of a relapse. Taking his too-thin, chilled hand in mind, I warmed his fingers by chafing them between my palms. “Do you have any idea what it is you’re supposed to forget?”

He didn’t answer for a quite a while, just sat there staring at his hand in mine. Several times, he looked as if he wanted to say something, but then hunched over, as if waiting for a blow. I had to fight against the urge to just hold the man until his quaking ceased, but I didn’t dare try; I was honestly surprised he let me near him at all, let alone touch him as much as I did now. 

Perhaps a different approach would work. “Why don’t you start from the beginning, and tell me what you remember.” 

“I remember blood,” he said quietly. “And pain. So much pain.” He closed his eyes tight and rocked forward a bit. “I could hear him, but I couldn’t see,” he whispered. “The same voice asking me over and over: Where is it, where did you hide it, I need it quickly! Then a bright light, it hurt my eyes. And sounds, overwhelming sounds, too many, too loud. Screaming inside my head. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, but they made me move.” Severus drew in a shuddering breath and wiped his face with his free hand. “Bitter sludge being poured down my throat. Burned it raw.”

Andromeda had mentioned before she had left, that the potion Severus had been given was about three time as strong as what a normal person could tolerate. His constitution must have been made of iron—no wonder the potion had burned him. “These people, can you remember what they looked like? Anything about them at all?”

He tapped his forehead with one finger several times, each tap increasing in force until he was practically smacking himself. I gently took hold of his wrist and eased his hand away. He gave me an anguished look and shook his head. “It’s not where it should be.”

“It’s all right. We’ll try again later.” I rubbed my thumbs on the insides of his wrists. “Lie down. You need to sleep some more.”

I stood up to leave, but he caught my arm, his black eyes intense. “Thank you, Lupin.”

I didn’t ask what he was thanking me for; his gaze said a multitude of things, some too serious to consider at the moment. Instead, I took his hand in mine and squeezed it, then placed it under the quilt. “Don’t thank me just yet, Severus,” I said. “You haven’t received my bill.”

He arched a brow, his mouth curling into a smirk. “Overpriced, mangy beast.”

Oh, there was Severus again, the one I knew… and actually cared a great deal for. “It’s the going rate for nasty, foul-tempered curmudgeons.”

“You should raise your prices,” he said through a yawn, his eyes closing. “Worth more.”

I half-wanted to shake him awake to ask him what he meant by that, but I could see that he was dead to the world. Oh, that was a bad turn of phrase. Irritated with myself for being so flustered by Severus’ last remark, I left the room, shut the door and descended the stairs.

Harry was staring out the window into the back garden. Weak sunlight refracted off the icicles hanging from the eaves, the colours lighting his eyes in an unnerving manner. His arms were crossed, his body rigid. “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked stiffly, giving me a glance of combined anger and hurt. 

“It’s not my business to tell anyone anything,” I replied tersely. “It’s his. If there came a point where Severus wanted you to know he was—”

“You knew how I felt about him,” Harry grated. Though he never moved an inch, potent energy rolled off him in waves… and it didn’t feel pleasant. “Did you think you could hide him here? From _me_?”

I frowned. I could understand that he was upset that I hadn’t told him Severus was alive, but now that he knew, I would have expected relief to take the place of anger. Instead, there was a growing edge to Harry’s demeanour, a harsh quality that seemed out of place. “Harry, what’s really bothering you?” 

He slowly turned his head and arched his neck, and I had the uneasy feeling I was looking at a cobra ready to strike. I was unable to look away. I had no formal training in the art of Legilimens, but the longer Harry stared at me, the stronger the compulsion I had to throw up mental shields against him. He held my gaze for a moment longer then blinked, and I felt I had been released from some sort of binding. 

Harry looked away, rolled his shoulders as if they were tense, and headed for the hearth. “I’ll tell Andromeda you’re fine,” he muttered, and in a flash of Floo powder, he was gone. 

I had an inexplicable but powerful urge to follow him, and whisk Andromeda and Teddy away from him. I tempered my uneasiness by reminding myself that Andromeda was still very much a Black at heart, and could more than hold her own if it became necessary. Then I blew out a sharp breath, confused. This was _Harry_ I was thinking about. Harry wouldn’t hurt my son, or Andromeda. Merlin, Severus’ paranoia was insidious, now he had _me_ believing in things. 

I was not, however, taking any chances. Sitting at the kitchen table, I penned a note to Kingsley Shacklebolt, asking for any information he could give me about Snape, that it was important. I sent Mallory off with the missive and hoped that Kingsley could provide me with the missing pieces of this puzzle.

~*~

The kitchen in the cottage I shared with Andromeda was not very large to begin with, but with a very tall and bulky ex-Auror-cum-Minister standing in the room, it was positively claustrophobic. He didn’t look pleased to see me, either.

“I’d expected an owl,” I said. “You didn’t have to actually come in person.”

“Your questions weren’t the sort that can be answered by owl,” he said curtly. “Why do I have the feeling you have more than a passing interest in Severus Snape, Remus?”

I was affable by nature, a trait that tended to lessen aggression and ease conversation. It also allowed me greater leeway with those in positions of authority, as my amiability could be mistaken for sycophancy, and people in power _always_ wanted to be admired, have their egos stroked. Kingsley was no different. He just wasn’t as abusive as some. 

“Because your instincts serve you well,” I said, hoping it would be enough to entice him to answer me.

His eyes narrowed as he stroked his chin. “What do you know so far?”

“Very little. You were the head of the Order just before it was disbanded. I assume you knew more about him, and possibly his missions, than anyone except Dumbledore. Combine that with being the Minister, and it’s likely you’re privy to certain information that could posthumously clear his name.”

“You assume correctly,” Kingsley replied in a neutral tone. “There are certain things I cannot tell even you, however. It would mean my job.” 

Of course it would. I was fairly certain now that Kingsley had _known_ Severus was alive and being kept hidden. Did he know he’d been rescued, though? “I understand.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace—a difficult feat in the cramped room. “As head of the Order, I knew of Severus’ spying, but I did not know of the bargain struck between Dumbledore and Snape until Harry told me, a few days after Voldemort died. I was surprised, and yet I was not. Snape had always played everything close to the vest, Dumbledore more so. I am sure there are machinations those two set in motion that will never be realised until we are long gone, my friend.”

I nodded. It was akin to a Muggle Cold War spy novel, where one faction sends their best spy to infiltrate the enemy, bringing them down from the inside out. It would be a thrilling story, if it weren’t so bloody tragic. “And what do you know as Minister?”

“ _That_ is a bit trickier,” he muttered, stopping to stare out the picture window above the sink. “There are things…”

“He’s alive, isn’t he,” I said bluntly, hoping it would startle him, force him off-balance enough that he would tell me more. 

He turned sharply and stared at me, his eyes wide. “He was as of three days ago… but something has happened. How do you know that?”

So Andromeda’s golem had worked. It was still unclear, though, whether the Minister thought Severus truly dead, or if it was another ruse. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Remus, this is serious,” he bit out in a harsh whisper. “If you know something, tell me now. Your safety depends on it.”

“I think I’ll take my chances,” I said, studying his expression. There was anger there, and fear, but I wasn’t sure that was enough to make me trust him.

“I can’t believe…” Kingsley threw his hands in the air. “You have no idea what you’re meddling in, Remus. If certain people find out that Severus Snape is very much alive, there is _nothing_ they will not do to ensure that he won’t remain that way for very long.”

I crossed my arms. I wasn’t about to give in; too much was riding on this, namely Severus’ life. “I understood you perfectly. Now you listen to me. The circumstances surrounding Snape’s life and alleged death stink so badly of Ministry politics, I’m surprised the Muggles walking by on the street don't gag on the smell. I think it’s time certain things came to light. Gross abuse, neglect, defamation and any number of horrible and unjust things have been done to this man. He followed the orders he was given, risking his own life over and over again, and in doing so ensured that Harry could not only survive, but save our world. And what thanks does he get? A shoddy grave and people spitting on his memory because they don’t know a fraction of the truth. He deserves better than that! He deserves a chance at a real life, even if it’s far away from here. So tell me, _Minister_ ,” I nearly spat the word in my fury, “Why was he being hidden away? What the hell does he know that you’re so desperate to find out?”

Kingsley looked like he had eaten one of the Weasley twin’s dangerous confections and was about to blow. He grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me hard against the wall, banging my head so hard I had to blink to clear my vision. “I’m going to tell you this only once,” he snarled in a low voice, “and you will never, _ever_ repeat it. If you happen to slip up and tell someone this, it means your death, do you understand?” I had trouble swallowing past the fist at my throat, but I nodded. His eyes were anguished, and he wearily laid his forehead against mine and whispered, “We believe there is one more Horcrux left.”

I stopped breathing, I know I did—it took a shake from Kingsley to bring me back to my senses and start again. I felt as though a Dementor has suddenly entered the room and was reaching out to grip me with cold, black hands. “But Harry destroyed them all!” I protested weakly.

Kingsley’s grip loosened a fraction, and lowered his voice as if afraid we would be overheard. “That’s what I thought, what we all thought. But when we found Snape in the Shrieking Shack, he was delirious, raving that Harry had missed one. We thought at first it was just another hallucination, a product of that damned snake and her venom. When we were attacked in the midst of trying to secret him away, however, we began to suspect that his claims were not as unfounded as we had hoped. He continued to insist that the skull was the key.”

“That’s what Severus has been screaming in his nightmares,” I said without thinking, latching onto the common factor throughout this whole mess. It wasn’t until I registered Kingsley’s look of stunned horror that I had unwittingly revealed a crucial bit of information.

“What?” he snarled. “How do you know what he’s been screaming in his nightmares, Remus?” His fists were curled in my shirt again. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you? That’s how you know he’s alive. Where is he? That _thing_ we found in his bed almost had us fooled into thinking he’d actually died… except the body we thought was Snape’s was nude beneath his dressing gown. We both know that Snape wouldn’t ever knowingly lower his defences, and that included what he wore at any given time. It struck me as out of place at the time, but now I know differently.” He shook me a little. “Are you the one that took him? Is he here, now?”

Though I should have been compliant and answered his questions, something inside of me rebelled at the thought of Kingsley ever going near Severus again. It manifested in my actions, as I quickly gripped Kingsley’s wrists and squeezed hard, the wolf within lending me extra strength, enough that I had the Minister crying out in pain as he dropped to his knees in agony. 

“Severus is safe for the moment, no thanks to you,” I growled, the tone vibrating in my chest. One of the standard spells that had been placed on the cottage, and Severus’ rooms, was a Notice-Me-Not Charm, and I hoped beyond reason it would deter Kingsley should he decide to snoop. “He’s in hiding,” I said with a bravado I didn’t feel, but could project with sincerity. “He will remain there until his name is cleared and the threat to his life is gone.” I tightened my fingers, shoving the pain in my left hand deep down. “Make no mistake; I intend to defend Severus with my life. I will not see him burn upon the funeral pyre of public hatred again; we owe him too much. Now, let’s discuss this like mature wizards—without threats or physical violence, yes?” 

I held my breath, waiting for Kingsley’s answer. When he nodded with a pained expression, I released my hold on him and stepped away, grabbing the edge of the counter to combat the dizziness rushing through my body from the adrenalin coursing through my veins searching for an outlet. Had the man been stupid enough to touch me at that point, I’m sure I would’ve been quite savage in my response. 

Panting, Kingsley stumbled to his feet and then collapsed in a chair, cradling his wrists to his chest. “I thought you hated Snape?” he asked accusingly. “Why are you protecting him?”

I thought I had hated him too… so long ago. But war and death changed people, changed how they thought, how they treated others after the smoke had cleared. That wizard upstairs was not the same that had littered our youth with horrible memories. He was altogether the same… and not. It was hard to define. The only thing I knew for certain was, if Severus left this house, he would do so under his own volition, and no one else’s. 

I drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Because he needs protecting, and no one else seems to care that he bloody well facilitated the downfall of Voldemort.” I held my hand up when Kingsley made to argue. “This is not up for discussion.” I made my way over to a chair and sat before my legs collapsed. “Now, this phrase, ‘the skull is the key’… is the Horcrux a skull or key?” 

Kingsley leaned forward and rested his hands on the worn surface of the table. “That’s the problem; we don’t know,” he said, frustrated. “Snape was being kept at St. Mungo’s, at first for recovery, then for his own protection, especially after being attacked when we had found him in the Shrieking Shack. We couldn’t tell who they were, but the Death Eater cloaks were recognisable, of course. They almost finished what Nagini had started. He’s the only one who knows what, or where, the Horcrux is, so I had to find a way to protect him until he could remember what it was. We had been dosing him with _Noire Obscurum_ , to keep his magical signature muted to the point he didn’t even register as a Squib. No one had found out that he had survived until you stumbled across him at St. Mungo’s.”

“Bloody hell, Kingsley! How did you get that potion?” My expression surely told the Minister how idiotic an idea that had been. _Noire Obscurum_ had been used by wizards and witches that had wanted to blend in with Muggle society, dampening their magic and making them forget it even existed. That was all well and good if that was what one ultimately wanted, but the potion was highly addictive, even to the point of death. That’s why it was banned long before my time, and more likely why Andromeda had not picked up on the nuances or all of the components of the potion—nobody ever used it in this day and age. “It’s illegal for a reason!” I snapped. “It’s addictive and if he’d been given too much, it would’ve killed him, and then where would your precious secret have been?” I shook my head in disgust. No wonder Severus was out of his mind withdrawing from the stuff. 

“One of those Ministry perks,” he said, wryly. “We are entitled to use whatever means are at our disposal to ensure the safety of the wizarding world.”

I clenched my teeth, the anger coursing through me. “Severus is not disposable!” I stood and moved away, afraid I was going to hurt the man. “Don’t you know that _Noire Obscurum_ also acts as a powerful memory suppressant?” I snorted in disbelief at his confused look. “You were going to keep dosing him until you killed him, and you still wouldn’t have had the information you so desperately wanted!”

“I’m not a potions expert,” he said defensively. “They told me it would—” 

“They? They who?” I asked quickly. This could be the missing piece.

“The Interrogation Team in the Auror Division. I asked for a potion that would act as a magic suppressant and that is what they suggested to me. They had no idea why I was asking about it, or who it might have pertained to.”

“Didn’t they?” I said derisively. “There wouldn’t happen to be a Malfoy on that team, would there?”

Kingsley’s jaw dropped. “Draco Malfoy.” He stood and paced to the sink. “Lucius had bought the boy’s position before I was made Minister. I tried to have him removed, but the Wizengamot protested, saying we needed his money.” He snorted in disgust. “Hypocrites, the lot of them. I bet a million Galleons Lucius was the one to suggest the bloody stuff to Draco. Damn it, how could I have missed that?” He pounded the counter with his fist. “Bloody preoccupied with Ministry business. If Draco found out where we were keeping Snape hidden, and dosing him with the _Noire Obscurum_ , I’m sure he’d try to find a way to extract the information from Snape himself… and, of course, give it to his father.” He withdrew his wand, and the uneasiness I’d scented on him earlier bloomed into outright panic. “Remus, wherever you have Snape hidden, I suggest you go and stay there. Set the strongest wards you can manage on his location. Admit no one.” 

Before I could answer, he Disapparated; I hoped he was on his way to find Draco, though I didn’t hold my breath. I walked the entire perimeter of the house, inside and out, setting up multiple protection charms, enough to keep out anything larger than a mealworm.

At last I climbed the stairs to check on Severus, only to find him staring at the ceiling in abject horror. I glanced up, but nothing was there that I could see. “Severus?” I called softly so as not to startle him.

“Do you see it, Lupin? There… it’s there!” He pointed to a spot directly above his bed. “Its eyes are hollow… and red, like burning coals, burning… burning me…until I am nothing but ash.”

“I don’t see anything, Severus,” I said quietly.

“Then you are not looking!” He pounded his fist on the wall to his left. “See it spinning its web to trap us? Spinning and spinning…” His words cut off suddenly and he jerked upright. “Spinner’s End!” He threw back the quilt and stumbled to his feet. “It’s at Spinner’s End!”

I suspected what he was talking about, of course, but if he could confirm it on his own it would be better, a sign that his memory was healing. “What’s at Spinner’s End?”

He dragged the threadbare dressing-gown over his shoulders, as if putting on armour for battle, and then grabbed me by the shoulders. “The skull is the key!”

“Severus... ” I placed my hand atop his. I was hesitant to destroy this fragile hope, but he had to be told. “Severus, Spinner’s End was destroyed about a year ago.” 

“No,” he whispered, his eyes distraught. “Not gone, not gone. Fire can’t kill it unless it is the fire that bites.”

His words confirmed that he was indeed talking about a Horcrux—only Fiendfyre could destroy such a thing. But would we be able to find it in the year-old ruins? "Do you remember where it was hidden?" I asked, hoping that it had been in something large or heavy that might have survived. Or if not, at least if we knew where it had been, we'd have a rough idea of where to start looking. 

He reached out and traced the longest of the scars on my face, his expression anguished, but resolute. “Can’t know. Safer for you that way.” He snatched his hand back as if burned. 

I racked my brain trying to recall everything I knew of the circumstances surrounding the destruction of Snape’s home. It had stood vacant for some time until Harry, in a fit of morbid sentiment, had decided to gather up some of Snape’s belongings to be kept as a memento to the wizard who helped him bring down Voldemort. 

And then, it was as if the cogs turned and snicked into place. 

The Horcrux had been hidden at Snape’s house in Spinner’s End. 

Nothing had been found when the wizards heading up the investigation had sifted through the debris. 

Harry had taken some items from the ruins.

Harry had been acting strange lately, aggression and anger seeping through at odd times. 

Oh, Merlin, no. Harry had inadvertently taken the Horcrux… or taken it deliberately, which didn’t bear thinking about.

“Severus, I think Harry may have the skull,” I whispered haltingly. My lips didn’t want to form the words. 

“Potter?” he asked uneasily. “He must not put it on.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease the ache between my eyes. Merlin, this was so confusing. “What happens if he puts… wait, puts ‘what’ on, Severus?”

“The skull, the mask. My mask.”

My brows shot up until it felt like they touched my hairline. “Do you mean to tell me that your Death Eater mask is a bloody Horcrux?”

Severus cringed at my tone and words. “It was readily available; he meant to make it with my death,” he rasped. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, laying my hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’m not angry with you.” I rubbed my temples. “So did Voldemort actually make a true Horcrux, since you didn’t die?”

The shakes had started again, and Severus wrapped his arms around his middle. “I don’t know. Ask Potter. If he has it, he will know.”

“Yes, let’s ask Potter.”

I whirled around and froze at the sight of the figure lounging against the doorframe. Harry held Severus’ Death Eater mask in his left hand, indolently swinging it side to side.

“Funny, I couldn’t hear them anymore after he was destroyed,” Harry said idly. “Those voices used to always whisper incessantly, telling me things… showing me things.” He tapped his right temple. “They were so loud when I wore Slytherin’s locket, but all their scratching voices stopped when he died. Then, I found this...” His face transformed into something darker, sinister. “It was just like my days at Hogwarts, fighting those urges that filled my mind with...” He leered. “Well, I think you know.” He held up the silver skull mask and studied its face. “It’s not a true Horcrux, but then again, it doesn’t need to be, not with me.”

I was eerily reminded of what had happened with Quirrell, how Voldemort had used his body. Was it possible something had taken hold of Harry in the same manner? I had slipped my wand into the front pocket of my cardigan after I had set the wards—which Harry had apparently broken with ease, which was highly alarming—and to reach for it now would only draw attention to myself. But I had to do something; the sense of latent power in the room was strong, and growing stronger. 

The multiple scenarios running through my head were brought to an abrupt halt by Severus’ hand on my arm. He moved slowly, as if approaching a dangerous, feral beast, subtly pushing me behind him as he inched closer to Harry. “I think you should let me have that, Potter,” Severus suggested quietly. “It was not meant for you.”

Harry’s mouth twisted into an ugly scowl. “Surely you can’t think it was meant for the likes of you, Snape,” he taunted. “Seduced by power, but no stomach to wield its true potential.” He grinned. “No, this is mine. The moment I touched it, I could feel the power humming in my fingers and singing through my veins.”

“Yes, I was well and truly seduced,” Severus agreed. Tentatively, he held out his hand, palm up, and I noticed that the faded Dark Mark on his forearm was moving, rippling along the edges, the closer he came to Harry. “But the power will burn and consume you until there is nothing left. You know this to be true.”

The concentration of energy in the tiny bedroom was nearing its peak, making the air feel charged with static electricity. I wanted to help, to do something, but interrupting them might break the coiled tension both of them were holding in check, and if that happened, all hell would break loose. I stayed still and quiet, mindful of the body language they used as they circled each other and watching for an opportunity to act. 

Harry gave Severus a smile that would not have looked out of place on Voldemort’s own face. “Oh, but what a glorious conflagration it would be,” he said, raising the mask.

It was apparent Severus was struggling to remember something, anything that would help him reach Harry. My own mind raced, trying to think of something that would cut through the manipulative voices in Harry’s head, and remind him who and what he was. I recalled teaching Harry to conjure a Patronus. What was it he had had said about the Dementors? When they had attacked him, he had always heard his mother. “Harry, remember her screams!” I shouted. “Remember your mother’s screams, as she died to protect you that night. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain!”

Harry’s hand paused in mid-air, though he didn’t look at me. Tears filled his eyes and overflowed down his cheeks. They fell on the mask poised inches from his face, hissing as they hit the silver surface. I was so concentrated on Harry, that I barely noticed Severus closing the distance between them. 

What I saw next will continue to baffle me to the end of my days.

Hesitantly, Severus placed his hand on Harry’s head, stroking the wild hair with a gentleness I had never witnessed in him before. He smoothed away the frown creases on Harry’s forehead with the pad of his thumb, while Harry stood as if Petrified. He lightly grasped the hand that was holding the mask and slowly lowered it, away from Harry’s face. He tenderly swiped at the moisture beneath Harry’s eyes.

“You have a power and courage all your own, Potter,” Severus said softly. He gently extricated the mask from Harry’s fingers. “You do not need someone else’s. Do not mistake power seized through fear for true power earned by respect.”

Something in Harry’s expression broke, and he muffled a sob, burying his face against Severus’ chest, tightly wrapping his arms around the thin, dark wizard. I swallowed the whimper caught in my own throat and took the mask Severus held out behind him, careful not to disturb Harry, who was squeezing the life out of him. The moment I touched it, I knew what Harry had felt because it leapt into me, coursing through every vein and nerve in my body. The power was intoxicating, calling to the wolf in me, demanding that he savage everything in his path. With a gasp, I flung the thing onto Severus’ bed, and wiped the palms of my hands on my trousers.

Harry was still clinging to Severus’ neck like a limpet on a rock. I watched as Severus awkwardly patted him on the back, an expression of fond exasperation clearly evident. He sent me a look that clearly said, ‘Get me out of this!’ I didn’t know whether to laugh or weep; the adrenalin rush had left me feeling giddy with relief, but empty and exhausted, as though I’d just returned to my human form after a transformation. And, just as had happened in the past since the end of the war, my joints seized in searing pain, and I crumpled to the floor with a strangled yelp.

That caught the attention of the other two. “Remus!” Harry shouted, dropping to his knees beside me. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t speak. Agony crawled through my limbs, paralysing me, until I was engulfed in darkness and knew no more.

~*~

I felt like I was swimming through thick, muddy water. My body was heavy, clumsy, as though I were tangled in kelp and being dragged down to the bottom of the Black Lake. It took great effort just to inhale and exhale. It was so tempting to let go, though; to give up the arduous task, but as I began to fall into the darkness, a stern voice off to my right admonished me.

“I did not cure your affliction simply for you to ignore my considerable skills and die regardless.”

I took a deep, laborious breath and pried my eyes open to see Severus sitting in the chair that I had once occupied. How ironic that our situations were reversed. I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and all that came out was a croak. 

He waved off my efforts. “You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for the better part of a week. Here.” He handed me a glass of water. “Drink it slowly.”

I wanted to ask about Teddy and Andromeda, about what happened with Harry, how Severus was feeling, but my mind was muzzy at best, and I couldn’t form a coherent thought to save my life. My confusion must have shown on my face, though, for Severus sat back and steepled his fingers, watching me carefully.

“Teddy and Andromeda are well; they are downstairs celebrating Yule as we speak.”

Yule already? Bloody hell, I’d been out for days.

He hesitated, then added, “Potter is with them.” He glanced at his left arm. “The mask has been destroyed. There are no lingering effects on the boy. He is free.”

“We all are,” I rasped, pushing the words out of my mouth. “You as well.”

“Am I?” he asked absentmindedly, eyes still on the faded Dark Mark hidden by the sleeve of his robes. “I doubt I will ever be free. But that particular threat has been vanquished, yes.”

I swallowed more water, sip by sip, until I drained the glass. He took it from me to place it on the bedside table. “Has anyone told you what happened?” I managed to whisper. “To you, I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “I have pieced it together, I believe. It’s all very convoluted, and though I doubt the veracity of some parts, some events and feelings ring true.” He settled back into the chair, as though preparing for a long story. “With the weakening of the potion in my system, my memories are returning. I remember the Dark Lord’s attempt to make a final Horcrux out of my mask, with me as the sacrifice. He had long suspected Potter of destroying the ones he had already made, and was desperate to preserve himself. Obviously, I did not die, but the attempt... shattered parts of my mind. I tried to convey the seriousness of the situation to those who had found me in the Shrieking Shack that night, but between my torn throat, the copious blood loss and the snake venom, I was not able to fully articulate what I knew and they took it for the ravings of a mad man. By the time I had begun to shake off the effects of the venom, the _Noire Obscurum_ had already leached most of my magic, and what memories I retained after gifting a sizable portion of them to Potter, were slowly eroded by time and potion.”

Poor sod, he’d never had a chance to fully recover. “Has Harry returned your memories?” I asked. 

Severus looked away, uncomfortable. “I have not asked for their return as of yet. Potter has assured me that they are mine, when I am ready.”

I could understand his hesitancy. If the memories were as painful as Harry had described them, I wouldn’t have been eager to assimilate them back into my life again. Ultimately, they were a part of Severus, a part he would need to come to terms with. But there was time; as he said, when he was ready. 

There was one last piece of the puzzle. “Do you recall who it was that forced you to drink the potions every day?”

“In my discussions with Potter, he seems to think that while Kingsley had been giving me a normal, safe dosage, it was being supplemented by someone else. What you must understand is, the Malfoys learned of the last Horcrux when Lucius, in a bid to learn something useful that would keep his family out of Azkaban, decided to play spy when the Dark Lord summoned me. He saw all that had transpired—the snake, the mask…everything. But, the Dark Lord miscalculated Potter’s strength, and Lucius tried to seize his moment of glory by procuring the mask for himself. Fortunately, I was of enough sound mind to wrap my Death Eater cloak around the mask and press one of the buttons, which acted as a predestined Portkey, in case of emergencies. The mask and cloak were sent to my home in Spinner’s End. To say that Lucius was enraged would be putting it mildly. He was about to strike the final death blow when Kingsley and his Aurors found me before that became a reality. I don’t remember anything after that, but it is not hard to make an educated guess. Draco Malfoy had already gained a position in the department directly responsible for the extraction and handling of crucial information, so it was fairly easy to use an Imperius Curse on a custodian at St. Mungo’s to grant him access to my ward.” Severus glanced down at his hands, flexing the index finger that had been broken. “I don’t remember all of it, but I do recall the boy becoming incensed often when I refused to tell him where the Horcrux was.” He snorted to himself. “The pathetic brat had no stomach for the sight of blood, so he had taken to breaking my toes and fingers, hoping to coax the information from me in a more compelling manner. After he would leave, I would try to realign and set the bones as best I could, but I was limited in my resources. When he realised I would not tell him, Draco had the custodian start administering an extra dosage of the _Noire Obscurum_ each time one was given to me by the Ministry. All Draco had to do then was wait.” Severus looked up and pinned me with a weighty stare. “Once I had overdosed, the secret of the Horcrux would have died with me, leaving the Malfoys to search for the mask and set about resurrecting the Dark Lord.”

“And all the while, you were completely mindless, unable to remember a bloody thing. The Ministry kept pressing you for the location of the Horcrux and what it actually was, not realising their own potion was preventing you from answering.” I shook my head. “I hope the Malfoys have been dealt with?”

A sly smirk crept across Severus moth. “In a manner of speaking. They are currently residents of Azkaban, and I believe they will be there for the duration of their lives.”

“That was quick.”

He shrugged. “As Shacklebolt mentioned to you, there are certain perks to being the Minister.”

I struggled to sit up, groaning with the effort. Once upright, I glared at him. “You listen in on far too many conversations, Severus Snape.”

“I was a spy for almost the whole of my adult life, Remus Lupin,” he retorted. “The habit is ingrained in me.”

I nodded, unable to argue with his reasoning. It was silly of me to expect a core trait like that to be subverted, even with the passage of time. There were many things still left unanswered, such as Severus’ status in wizarding society, but I felt they could be saved for another day. 

Another day. 

Panic hedged at my senses, as if I were about to lose something precious to me, compelling me to make the most of every moment I had left. Severus had said two to three weeks for my expected lifespan—an incredibly short amount of time. The panic quickly turned to overwhelming restlessness, as if it were a day or so before the full moon, and I made to get out of bed and start doing those things I needed to do before…

“Lie down, Lupin,” Severus said, forcing me back onto the mattress. “You’re in no fit state to traipse about.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, desperation lacing my tone. “I have to—”

“Remus,” he said quietly, forcefully. “You have all the time in the world.”

Confused, I tried to ask him why he would taunt me with the promise of something that would never be mine, but he just arched a brow and pointed to my left hand. My left hand, which had been so twisted in gnarls and painful knots, was now blessedly straight and flexing, as any normal hand should be. 

“Severus?” I whispered.

He smirked. “As I said, you were in and out of consciousness for over a week. I took the liberty of brewing the potion you required and poured it down your gullet. You even demanded more, greedy beast that you are. Another day of rest, and you should be back to your insufferable self.”

Conveying the emotions that thundered in my chest was difficult to put into words. Tears welled in my eyes, unbidden. I couldn’t have stopped them if I had tried. “Thank you,” I breathed.

The tips of his ears turned red, as did his cheeks. It looked oddly charming on him. He cleared his throat and fiddled with the sleeve of his black robe. “Yes, well, I only brewed it so you would stop passing out from pain at inopportune times.”

“Ah, I see,” I managed, sniffing and smiling. Say what he will, Severus did not fool me. He was as transparent as glass. The thought of his own recovery, however, gave me pause. He was over the worst of the withdrawal, but I knew that there would be days that would be harder than others. And Merlin help me, I wanted to be there for him when those days rolled around. “What will you do now?”

He was quiet for a long time, the tips of his fingers on his lips as he studied me intently. I returned his regard, unflinchingly. 

“That depends greatly on you,” he said at last, his voice low.

My heart leapt into my throat. “Me? Why me?”

“I owe you a life-debt, one I cannot immediately pay. It will take some time for me to—”

“Severus,” I interrupted. “You owe me nothing.” I clenched my hand into a fist and noticed that, for the first time since the final battle, it didn’t send agonising pain skittering through my body. I examined my hand, marvelling at Severus’ skill with potions. There were no swollen joints; the deformity had been corrected; my body was blessedly free of misery. I held up my hand, demanding that he look at it. “What you did here is worth any life-debt you might owe me, I promise.”

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I must make amends for—”

“Stop!” I bit out. I didn’t want his bloody gratitude! I didn’t want him thinking that, if he didn’t please me in some way, that I was going to chuck him out on his arse. I wanted him to live, truly live… and breathe, and to finally have a life. My natural reticence when it came to emotions almost had me shying away from asking to be included in his life. But I needed this man to know that he was valued; not for anything he could provide for others, but for himself alone. “Come here, please.” I patted the bed. He gave me a wary look, but complied, sitting gingerly next to me. I took his hand in mine and squeezed. “What do you want, truly?”

He stared at our joined hands, but he didn’t move or shift away, which gave me a modicum of hope. “I am unsure,” he said softly. “I am not fully healed; I still feel... disconnected, as I did while on the potion.”

“I imagine that will continue for some time. Some addictions take years to fully pass.”

He grimaced and laid his free hand atop mine. “Years,” he whispered. 

I understood, perhaps as few others could, the fear that was crawling through him: fear of rejection—in public or in private; fear of a relapse; fear of being vulnerable around people who could hurt him. I rubbed my thumb across his knuckles. “You know, the truth is, everyone is going to hurt you at some point in your life, Severus. You just need to figure out the ones that are worth all that suffering.”

He muttered something that sounded like agreement, then turned to pin me with a heated stare. “And are you worth all that suffering, Remus?”

I swallowed past the emotions clogging my throat; my heart was screaming to ask him to stay with me, my head was running through disasters waiting to happen. Finally, I just settled on the truth of my past. “I can’t say one way or the other, Severus. I was worth enough for some, not enough for others.”

He tilted his head, withdrew one of his hands and traced my scars. I could scarcely breathe as he eventually mapped out the laugh lines, the wrinkles at the corner of my eyes and the dimple on my left cheek that comprised my face. “You helped a wizard on the brink of death find himself again.” He let his hand drift to my chest, resting it over my heart. “I think you are more than worth the suffering.”

In that brief, shining moment, I knew that Severus was worth the suffering as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that followed this story, I hope you enjoyed it!


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